Shades of Oblivion
by bhen
Summary: This is how the Nerevarine came to be the character of Oblivion. I've taken a few liberties with the story, but this story has been rattling in my head for some time.
1. Prologue

Shades of Oblivion

Prologue- A month prior 

Captain Torlan straightened the long overcoat over his chainmail uniform. A few quick sweeps from his hand smoothed the wrinkled cloth gathered on his chest. Buttons and buckles shined to a gloss, and his sharpened sword remained sheathed at his side. His hair was trimmed to a proper length close-cropped to the skull, and a clean shave also reflected the ordered look of a ship's captain. Dimly lit as the narrow hallway was aboard his ship, the Waverunner, he nonetheless wanted to look his best.

_And what would it matter? _His conscious nagged him, as he approached the cabin door. Its not as though the occupant within cared much for titles or appearances. Hadn't the mer _(elf)_ dealt with the Great Houses of Morrowind, the notorious Televani mages, the very King Helseth himself? Within the cabin was the very hero that had battled a mad god. Rumor had it; he'd been offered a string of titles once Morrowind was freed, some whispered a council seat or the throne as well, to which he refused them all.

There were still appearances, Captain Torlan reasoned, and of course he primped out of habit. He didn't get to his title by skill alone. The aging Redguard had provided just the right bribes, and finally managed to captain his own ship. His efforts had been worth it. Once nothing but a pauper on the street, he now led his own crew. He loved the open sea, and the freedom it offered.

Pausing at the door, he gave a short, decisive rap.

_Lord Nerevar_…The very word carried the weight of legend and mysticism. The Waverunner's captain had no idea what he expected upon taking the Dark Elven hero aboard, but the friendly, well dressed, and well mannered elf surpassed everything he had heard of the Dark Elves, or Dunmer as they called themselves. There was something very likeable about the Dark Elf, carrying enough charm and grace that one couldn't help but agree to take him to the dangerous realm of the Akivar.

Torlan was glad Lord Nerevar asked nothing more than ship's passage. He'd taken a quest to find some relic and only needed a method to take him close to shore, not to actually dock. This was good. The Redguard had doubts his crew would agree to anything but that with the Akavir's reputation. It was still the lull of plentiful amounts of gold that had them agree to this anyway.

"Yes?" A voice called from beyond the door. "What is it?"

"Its Captain Torlan, sir." Torlan entered, finding the Dunmer looking over a number of maps of the mysterious region known as Akivar. The maps, of course, were incomplete. Few dared go this far, let alone into the lands of the 'snake people'. Too many had never returned, and those that managed to survive had tales of danger that left even the bravest reluctant to go.

The Nerevarine was dressed in a simple tunic of deep blue with breeches of gray and silver. His garb was oddly casual, matching the length of unbound hair that fell past shoulders. Only boots of black guarskin provided any armor. Somehow, Torlan had assumed the hero would be always at the ready. The only other armor he could see was a simple leather cuirass with matching greaves set aside near the bed. Posture was relaxed, as he stood leaning forward to better read in the dim light of lanterns.

"What is it?" The Nerevarine's voice was curious, undemanding. Red eyes the shade of Comberry wine blinked back at him patiently.

"A ship, Lord Nerevar." Captain Torlan announced. He couldn't help but notice the slight wince wrinkling the dusky brow at the title. He'd heard the Nerevarine wasn't particularly fond of the attention his title brought him. Perhaps he was simply bothered a ship was approaching, interrupting his expedition.

"A ship?"

"Yes, sir. Off the port bow." Already the Dunmer got to his feet, buckling on his sword. He was taller than most Dark Elves, and lean. Upon first meeting Lord Nerevar, Torlan had wondered if he was in fact the Nerevarine. Surely this Dunmer hardly appeared as a battle-weary champion that had saved Morrowind on more than one occasion. He bore no scars, looked too young, was altogether unassuming to be the reputed hero.

The Redguard took note of a short blade of curved, blue steel. He knew the sword was enchanted, but this was obviously not the famous Keening blade used to kill the god Dagoth. In fact, the only thing upon this person that denoted who he was flickered brightly on his hand; The Moon-and-Star ring. Reputedly, only the reborn Dunmer general of legend could wear such a ring without being killed outright. This and this alone was enough proof and proclamation to who Lord Nerevar was.

"What colors do they fly?" Lord Nerevar asked, already heading towards the deck of the ship. Torlan felt small compared to the taller elf, trying to keep up.

"The Imperial dragon, sir."

As they stepped foot upon the scattered deck, the men and women of his crew immediately straightened. The Dark Elves among them made gestures of reverence, saluting the warrior of their homeland, while others respectfully gave him room to walk to the bow. Lord Nerevar didn't take notice. Perhaps he took it for granted, or perhaps he was too intent on the ship just taking shape amid the early dawn mists of the sea.

Torlan found concern on his face, his own unease sparking to alarm. "What is it, Lord Nerevar?"

The elf looked grim, glaring out to the approaching ship. "It's my experience, captain, to always suspect trouble." He turned slightly, relaxing the tension in his face with a slight smile in regards to Torlan. "Especially from the Imperials. Why would a ship follow us out here of all places?" The question was rhetorical, "It means they want me to carry out some particularly dangerous quest that no one else can do."

What could possibly be more dangerous than entering the lands of Akivar? "Shall we allow them aboard, sir?"

The Neveravine glared back out to sea, eyeing with suspicion to the ship rapidly gaining speed on the high winds. "I suppose we have little choice." He turned back to return to his assigned cabin. "Tell me when they get here."

"Yes sir."

The ship, as it turned out, had come from Ebonheart bearing the colors of the Imperial Legion. Torlan found, however, a mix of races amid the crew. Not that was particularly unusual, but the first thing that alerted to trouble was a woman in full Bonemold armor, a Dunmer woman with dark red hair bound to a topknot looked back with a stern and serious expression. She appeared to be their leader.

Torlan had not stayed in the Legion for long. He baulked at the rules, and disliked the way the soldiers pushed others around. Even in the short time, however, he knew enough that a person leading Imperial soldiers was to wear Imperial armor at all times. They prided themselves on being men and women of the Empire. This woman seemed to be from one of Morrowind Great Houses.

"Get Lord Nerevar…and quickly." Torlan muttered to one of his crew as he watched the other ship throw mooring hooks to steady the two ships together. Planks were set between the decks for people to walk across, and it seemed in Torlan's experience, too many were boarding at one time. He eyed their uniforms, their stance, and the challenging stares he received from the soldiers. The thought occurred to him the Imperials might assume he was a smuggler, and sought to investigate the hold. In his lifetime, he had played the part of smuggler on occasion, but not this time. They'd find nothing but legal goods.

The woman approached with determined stride, armor rattling. "You are captain of the Waverunner?" She demanded, leaving little doubt that she expected a quick answer. She continued at his nod. "I am Dilvene Venim of House Redoran and I am here to speak with the Nerevarine."

He never found Dunmer woman particularly attractive. Dunmer by their race had red eyes, from shades of pink to her blood hue. Skin was a pale dust to deep stormy gray, often marred by tattoo or deliberate scars. The Nerevarine was one of the rare charismatic dark elves, graced with exceedingly good looks. He was clearly not born to Morrowind, however. He had no scars or tattoos. Even this woman had a mark upon her hand that denoted her clan. Her face stared back with thin lips, narrow eyes, and a permanent scowl. Perhaps it was the glare that stole any semblance of good looks.

Torlan was not familiar with the politics of Morrowind, but even he had heard of the Venim name. There was Duke Venim, ruler of the province of Vvardenfell, with the name running amok through many of the Houses. Was she a relative? He opened his mouth to speak, but heard the footsteps behind him, realizing Lord Nerevar had approached.

"Ah…" The Nerevarine smiled, the expression never reaching his eyes. Hair was now bound away from his face, and Torlan realized he'd donned his leather armor and now carried his sword across his back. "So good to see you again, Muthsera Dilvene."

The woman's eyes of brilliant red narrowed dangerously, and Captain Torlan realized how she was seething hatred towards him. By the Nerevarine's manner, he wasn't surprised by her reaction. "I am here on business, Lord Nerevar." Her chin lifted. "May we discuss the matter privately?"

"Let me guess," Came the dry response, "Something must be retrieved, escorted, or perhaps stolen?"

"I have no use for a thief!" The woman spat angrily. Her anger was abrupt and irate. Her hand strayed to the axe at her hip. "Murderer perhaps, but not a thief!"

Torlan fought the urge to retreat from the heated exchange. Her outburst erupted from barely contained anger. He looked back at Lord Nerevar who had grown still and sharp as stone.

"Still holding grudges, Dilvene?"

"Grudges?" She gasped in shock. She was barely able to hide her raw anger, "You _murdered_ my father!"

"He _challenged_ me to a duel, fought in front of the whole populace of the City of Vivec." Nerevar's voice never left its calm, but somehow the tone and become sharp as a razor's edge. "It was Bolvyn's choice to duel to the death."

"For honor!" Her outburst carried grief still ragged. "He had heard you were a thief and a spy! To House Redoran, you will always be as such."

"You forgot Hortator." He pointed out, folding arms across his chest. "And I know for a fact, not all of House Redoran supports your hatred of me."

"He couldn't let an n'wah be Hortator to our House! And I am now on the Redoran council-" She started, straightening and stiffening. "It's only a matter of time before the n'wah are driven out, as they should be."

To this, the Nerevarine lifted his hand to silence her, turning slightly away. "So be glad I'm off to Akavir. Isn't that why this quest was suggested in the first place? To get rid of me? With any luck, I wont return."

Her lips drew back into a sneer. "Of that I'm certain!" Her hand lifted suddenly, motioning to the men behind her to attack. From the other ship, a swarm of mercenaries spewed from below deck adding to the numbers of sailors dressed as Imperial soldiers. The whole thing was nothing more than a ruse! Torlan had barely enough time to draw his own weapon before watching in horror as the woman simultaneously threw a spell at the Nerevarine.

Time slowed as the Redguard managed to block an axe from cleaving his head in two. He let his body fall back, to gain a firmer foothold on the deck. He watched Lord Nerevar be thrown back from the blast of magic, nearly casting him overboard before catching the edge of a sail. In one fluid motion, the Dunmer swung back on deck drawing his weapon with flowing grace.

The Redoran woman shrieked in rage, throwing another unknown spell, while two robed mages emerged from her ship to engage in the battle. The Redguard captain recognized the two Dunmer in robes as Televani. By reputation alone made Torlan want to call for a retreat. There was no place to run, no place to hide. They brought out their arsenal from afar, safe on board their ship as they threw hellfire and death. Staffs they bore crackled with potent spells, sending blast after blast of shock and flame.

Torlan knew the battle wouldn't last long. His men were not warriors, were not prepared for a full blown attack from mercenaries let alone mages. Sailors did not wear armor, and only a handful knew any spells. Odds against him, he continued to defend his ship, Flames had caught the sails on fire, even some of his crew.

Torlan tried not to think of his crew who'd fallen into the ocean, or were laying in their own blood upon the deck. The scant handful left had managed to fight their way to Torlan's side, whereby they crowd together for protection, but even then, they knew their end was soon upon them.

Lord Nerevar was standing on his own, however, leaving Torlan in awe. He'd never seen such a graceful style of blade against so many foes. The movements flowed into one another, with the blade catching, deflecting, and slicing in a wild dance of pure death. Even surrounded, the hero managed to keep his attackers at bay, taking them out one by one. The mer could surely take on an army all by himself, the Redguard noted, watching the elf kick a large Orc overboard while exchanging blows with two fighters.

He was clearly working his way towards the Redoran woman. She stood closer to the gangplanks, but not before she dispatched three of the Waverunner's crew without a thought. From the grave look in her face, she knew he was coming for her. What struck Torlan as odd, however, was that she seemed pleased by this. Surely, she was no match for him-?

Amid the blood and fire, the woman retreated towards the mages. She moved across the gangplanks to her own deck, a strange smile on her mouth. "Justice is finally served." She retorted across the distance. "You will pay for your crimes!"

"So much for Redoran honor!" The Nerevarine spat back at her.

Another odd smile, and the Dunmer woman motioned a signal to the mages. At first Torlan suspected a rain of fire would end their lives right then and there, but the magic was entirely directed towards the single Dunmer now on the deck of the Waverunner. Only the mercenaries surrounding them held them back from his aid.

"Lord Nerevar-!" Torlan meant to shout a warning, but even as the words escaped his throat, he saw the spell hit the elf hard. Color and light enveloped him in a tight grip, forcing him on his knees. He gave a shout of surprise as he tried to form a counter spell or perhaps dispel the magic entirely. It was hopeless as the mages threw everything they had to the single fighter. As one spell faded, another would replace it. Wave upon wave of magic took a dire toll. He was failing…

No…they can't just kill him! Torlan gave the shout to attack, to somehow defend the Nerevarine as best they could. Knowing their time was coming to an end anyway, each gave a blood curdling shout of defiance as they rushed as a group to the mages. Captain Torlan went for the Redoran woman, his own sword raised as they swarmed forward.

His last thought was that no one would know the end of the Nerevarine, and his last sight was her genuine smile as she ran him through.

Saber roused slowly, and in slow motion. Everything felt sluggish, even words directed at him seemed to be spoken through a hazy fog. Disoriented, the Nerevarine found even opening his eyes had become a feat of near impossibility. He considered he might have had too much to drink, that Eiryn, the one true love of his life and lifetime companion, was going to, once again, lecture him on his bad habits.

"He wakens." A male voice spoke softly, almost echoing in the hollow space of consciousness Saber felt. Something touched his face, forcing his head up. "Wake up!"

Anger cleared his fuddled senses enough to open eyes to glare at whoever had captured him. He half expected his old nemesis, Nekros, before him. So often had he dreamed of his old master, a vampire and assassin to return to torment him. This time, however, the Dunmer looking down at him was one he'd never met before. The older elf was passionless, unmoved as he made certain their prisoner was conscious.

The room he was in was dark, with the smell of salt and fish. The creaking of wood narrowed down his guess at where he was. A ship? Memories floated through mire, reminding him barely of what had transpired. _The Waverunner..!_ Senses sharpened further now out of desperation. He jerked his head up and felt cold. A quick assessment told him he'd been stripped to nothing but a loincloth. To his horror, he stared at a pile of hair that had been shaved from his head.

Damned bitch! Hands were bound, but he knew if he touched his head, he'd find they shaved him bald. Immediately he assured it would grow back. Not that he was a particularly vain mer, but Eiryn often told him how she liked his look. Dilvene wanted him humiliated, no doubt.

"Where is my ship?" He managed to growl, trying to hide how being stripped had affected him. They had tied him securely to a chair, with arms behind him, even his legs bound tightly to where he sat. He suspected if he was determined enough, he might be able to break the seams of wood, but the sight of two armed guards forced him to remain where he was.

"Gone." A woman's voice cut through the darkness, coming from behind. He tried to crane his neck to see her, knowing he'd find Dilvene at the heart of this mess. "Your crew? Also gone." She stepped forward into the light having lost her armor. Now she wore the bright red silks of her station. The cloth was lined in gold thread and ribbon, snug at the waist and puffed at the sleeve. The hair fell in waves about her shoulders, somehow unable to soften her hardened features. A smile widened her thin lips. She leaned forward almost within reach. "You're the only thing left. You missed watching the Waverunner drift beneath the waves."

Saber scowled back at her, sickened that the woman would go so far as to kill a shipload of men and women who had nothing to do with this. A thousand ways to kill her flashed through his mind, mostly of methods that would entail pain and agony for what she'd done. Insults and threats seemed pointless, so he simply remained silent, offering her nothing.

Dilvene was unmoved, too caught up with her prize of catching him. "Captain Torlan screamed before he died." She watched for reaction and found none. "And it wasn't quick."

"So you spared me long enough to tell me this?" It was all he could do to keep his voice steady. "Is the plan to torture me to death?'

A sudden and genuine laugh burst from the Dunmer woman. "Death?" She sounded aghast at the idea, despite having just slaughtered a crew of nearly fifteen men and women. The smile faded as suddenly as it shone. "Death is too good for the likes of you. There is no honor in killing you."

Saber gaped, "Honor? You dare speak to me of honor? This is about revenge you bitch-"

Her hand shot out, punching him in the face. Knuckles hit against his cheekbone, exploding pain and silencing him. free hand snatched up a dagger from the table next to them, laying the sharp edge against his throat. Her body almost trembled in rage, eyes flashing heat as spoke. "You're lucky I don't have your tongue cut out of your head." She snarled. "And I _still_ might." He felt her apply just enough pressure to cause pain. "You'll have no use for your tongue where you'll be going."

He refused to give her a damned thing. "And where would that be?"

"Back from whence you came, fetcher!" Dilvene's voice developed an ominous tone.

Saber had no idea what she was talking about. The woman was more than happy to explain. "Where criminals belong." She continued, laying the blade against his cheek now throbbing from her hitting him. The steel felt cool against the pain. "Thieves….murderers…."

"Prison?" Was she insane? Well, that much was obvious, but he wasn't sure to laugh at the idea or worry she was indeed crazy.

"I am your judge." Dilvene continued, her face hardened. "And jury. You are charged, Lord Nerevar, with the murder of my father, Bolyn Venim of House Redoran. You will finally pay for all your crimes!"

"And how are you going to pull this off?" Saber asked, trying to think how she'd managed to explain she was bringing the Nerevarine, Hortator, and renown hero to prison for a murder that was a formal duel to the death.

Drawing back, Dilvene had herself under control once again. She placed the knife aside. "I spent six years planning for this." She told him slowly, relishing the moment. "I had to have enough magic, enough fighters to take you down. House Redoran has never been the same since my father's death, since you-" She glared once more to him. "became Hortator. I couldn't challenge you. No one heard my plea for rightful vengeance. All I had left was my honor."

Saber clenched his jaw, not revealing he'd felt she never considered to have honor in the first place. "And prison?" He goaded her to finish her plan.

"And not just any prison." She smiled, "But the Imperial prison. As I've said, you will go back to whence you came."

She can't honestly be that stupid? He thought to himself.

A light chuckle responded to the obvious doubt he had in his face. "All they will see is a Dunmer prisoner, charged with murder." She explained. "I'm hereby stripping you of your titles of Hortator, and Nerevarine."

"By what right-?" He stopped when he saw she had his ring. The Moon-and-Star glowed in the dim light set in a small box on the table before him, next to the Manos blade, his daggers, and all the other weapons and armor he owned. Obviously, no one had tried on his ring, and he was curious how in Oblivion they removed the ring without being killed. Ah yes, the mages. They must had found some way to remove it.

The Moon-and-Star however was what proved he was the Nerevarine. Saber scowled. Surely she must be aware that no one in Cyrodil would believe he was nothing but a thief and murderer. He's explain to them, directing them to whoever he needed to verify who he was.

"I can see your confusion." The Dunmer woman stated with glee. "So I will explain it to you, not that you'll remember…"

The first stirrings of unease began. _I won't remember?_

"You won't remember anything." She continued relentlessly. Her red stare bore into his own, using words to cut into his soul. "You won't remember who you are, where you came from, or even what you did."

Saber felt his breathing quicken, knowing she was serious. Thoughts of Eiryn brought him grief. _She'll never know what happened to me_. "And this serves what purpose..?" Part of him wanted to plead his case, to try to get it through her thick skull that her father had challenged the duel. He had to accept if he was to become Hortator. If he hadn't, he couldn't fulfill the prophecies laid out by Azura, to defeat Dagoth Ur. Surely, after six years, she must know this?

"Because you'll be executed." Came the harsh reality of her answer. "Morrowind will be rid of you, and I will know that your death was done honorably. Justice will be served."

Saber felt his teeth might break from grinding teeth. He'd fought gods and won, dealt single-handed with the Dark Brotherhood, fulfilled countless, near-impossible quests, and this snip of a woman has decided to take her revenge out of some misguided outlet for her grief? "You best hope I never remember…" He warned her, boring a glare into her own. "Because I swear I will rip your throat out if I ever find you-"

Dilvene tilted her head raking eyes over her prisoner, and a self-satisfied look spread once more over her face. "We should begin." She announced to her guards.

Note: This story has been rattling in my head ever since I started playing Oblivion. The thought occurred to me how Oblivion starts with a person in prison, and not knowing how s/he got there. I began thinking, what if this was none other than the Nerevarine himself? I know the Prologue is a bit longer than I wanted, but the information was essential to setting up the rest of the story. Feedback is much appreciated.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One:

A month later… 

Eiryn Acques felt the tension in the room like a thick fog. Not that this was anything new in the High Council Chambers, but now the usual anger and contempt were filtered with a degree of panic. The High Council had convened in Ebonheart in the hopes of dealing with a new threat to the lands of Morrowind. Oblivion Gates had opened sporadically, erupting Daedric creatures upon the hapless populous. The unexpected attacks left only destruction in their wake. Those that did manage to survive did so by retreating. No one knew why these gates had opened, or where they'd open next. Worse, no one knew how to shut them. She also knew exactly why the Council had called her to attend this meeting, and her inevitable answer.

She shifted in her seat as the council members of all three Great Houses discussed and argued plans. Tensions ran high, fear and irritation was thick among the nobles. Some voiced a strategic retreat, while other began to question the Televani's skill in being able to shut the gates at all. Voices rose and fell, tempers flared. It was amazing that anything was ever accomplished among them.

The Breton scout opted to dress accordingly for this formal meeting with 'the higher ups', as Saber so often referred to them. She chose a gown for the occasion. The deep green material was silken brocade, snug at her waist and low cut in the front. Her long hair of deep chestnut, normally bound in a practical braid, was pulled atop her head with ringlets framing a heart-shaped face. The young Breton hoped the fashion made her look older than she normally appeared. Having just turned 28, Eiryn was still considered too young amid the ageless Dark Elves.

The young Breton often wondered the true age difference between herself and Saber. He had no idea his true age, guessing he was perhaps four years older. He didn't know for sure, being of uncertain birth. His origins were lost in history, adding a mystic to the charismatic elf. She supposed age hardly mattered in light of his being ageless. Not because he was Dunmer, even they had limits despite magic. Having been 'cured' of the deadly disease of Corprus had rendered him immortal- well eternal, Eiryn corrected herself. Even Saber could die from a knife or drowning, but age and disease couldn't touch him.

She knitted hands together as thoughts drifted his recent disappearance. Each day with no word made her worry even more. The expedition to Akavir wasn't supposed to take that long. He'd been a thief and master at stealth. Saber assured her he had no intention of doing anything but finding the relic and returning home. He'd done such things before without being detected…but this time, she had cause for concern.

A month prior, she'd found herself feeling a wave of fear. Something was wrong…She tried to voice her worry to Merthisan Kendari, to the Council, to anyone who would listen, but each chided her for fretting over Saber when he was 'perfectly capable of handling things himself'. In her heart, she knew better.

Since then, the feeling couldn't be shaken off. With having been left behind to handle matters of the estate, she resented now more than ever his insisting she remain at home. How often had she been left behind as Saber traveled off to handle some dangerous mission? His argument had often been the amount of power and magic available to him. This much was true, but nonetheless frustrating to the woman who wanted to be at his side.

He agree to most requests for help, even assisting in the more trivial matters from time to time. Those she went along to watch his back, or help however she could. Eiryn managed to be at his side to many quests, but the past year things were further complicated by their owning an estate north of Khuul. A modest island housed their castle, and even a small village, now they had the added responsibility of managing the lands and assets. She never imagined how much work went into a large estate, even with the many servants that were there to help.

Since the proclamation of the end of all slavery in Morrowind, slaves remained as servants, preferring the comfortable life Saber offered them on his lands. Many of which had been rescued by Saber over the years when slavery was rampart. They decided to stay rather than return to homes long lost to raids. Most were considered good friends now.

It was a pleasant life, Eiryn considered to herself. One she coveted and appreciated. Even more so in light that Saber might never return. The thought caused her brow to wrinkle, her throat to close up in unspoken, hidden grief. This had been the longest time they'd been apart, and now she felt something had gone terribly wrong. Saber was missing, and even she didn't know where he'd gone.

"So where _is_ the Nerevarine?" Duke Venim spoke directly at her, breaking into her inner discourse. She looked up to find the room suddenly staring at her. The Dark Elf who had spoken cast a stern eye, silently demanding her answer.

She stood, lifting her chin to show she'd not let them intimidate her. They knew damn well he was missing, being they were the one who sent him on this venture to begin with. None had suggested anything in the way of finding him. She assumed many would simply prefer him gone. Since the battle beneath Red Mountain, where Saber had single-handedly fought and killed Dagoth Ur, the Nerevarine still faced opposition from many on the Council.

"I've received no word." She told them, not wishing to reveal her concerns that something serious must have happened. Part of her resented that no one mentioned as to why they sent him, or what they wanted retrieved. They also made no mention or effort to find him.

"So he is missing, perhaps dead." Venim stated as if it were already fact. The remaining council murmured their own theories. Some even suggested he'd abandoned them in their time of need.

Eiryn's anger sparked. "He hasn't returned, or sent me word as yet." She clarified stiffly. "A month is hardly enough time to declare one dead."

The Dunmer's red gaze narrowed. Here was a Dunmer who didn't appreciate anyone challenging him. "But we are in dire need of his help." He pointed out, followed by a number of affirmatives from his kinsmen. "Word has reached us that the Emperor has been assassinated, leaving the realm without any leadership. These cursed gates are popping up all over the lands of Tamriel- not just here. We need the Nerevarine!"

"Then perhaps he shouldn't have been sent on some pointless expedition!" Eiryn snapped, immediately regretting her quick response. She had, up until now, remained neutral between Saber and the High Council, hopeful to be the guiding temperance both sides as needed. Now facing them alone, she felt small and insignificant. Fear and anger fogged her judgment.

"She's right," Another Dark Elf agreed. He donned the extravagant robes of a Televani mage. The Dunmer, Master Aryon, had remained a reasoning voice for the leaders of his House, often siding with the Nerevarine in matters of slavery and politics. He also held a firm hold on House Televani, but his next words startled her. "We mustn't hope for his return. As Duke Venim has said, he might be dead or lost. We must focus on handling this matter on our own."

She stared dumbfounded that he'd suggest such a thing, as if completely dismissing Saber's disappearance. Was Saber nothing more than a body to be used and discarded? She sucked in a breath to settle her nerves, fists clenching the delicate fabric of her gown as she barely controlled her temper. Of course, what else should she expect from any of them? Their help? Not likely. Saber had saved them all from Dagoth Ur, fought the Sixth House Cult without their help, and afterwards, faced countless number of assassination attempts from those feeling threatened by his growing so powerful. Eiryn suspected they feared his replacing King Helseth, or finding the power to simply take what he wanted. Yet all Saber wanted was a life of his own, away from their backstabbing politics, the lies, and never-ending desire for power.

Eiryn also knew she couldn't hope for any of the Council members to be anything remotely helpful to her. They had their own lives to concern themselves with, their own lands, their own people. She'd receive no help from them. They only wanted her to validate he was unavailable to help before moving on without him, not even glancing back. _Bastards…_

The Council words drifted to topics of handling the matter on their own, suggesting numerous magick attempts or battle plans in dealing with the Gates. Only a day before, word had arrived that the city of Ald Ruhn had been razed to the ground. This was a blow the House Redoran, losing half their council to the attack.

Eiryn gathered her skirts and strode from the hall, disgusted and despairing to everything she had witnessed. Why should she be surprised? Surely, through these years, if nothing else, the Dark Elves of Morrowind maintained their own considerations in such matters? They always had, and always will. Even Saber's life, it would seem, was surfeit.

The walk back to the docks of Ebonheart was long and provided the young woman too much time to dwell on her loss. The young Breton considered stopping in the Six Fishes Tavern for a drink or meal, having skipped breakfast, but her stomach protested the thought of food. Food would be tasteless anyway, too overwhelmed with worry no doubt. A subtle wave of nausea washed over her, including some light-headedness. She nearly stumbled, managing to keep her equilibrium by resting against a wall for balance.

"Excuse me…" A voice spoke behind her, startling. She jerked upright, sucking in a gasp at finding young Imperial standing not far from her.

She frowned, sensing she'd been followed or watched.

He shifted his feet uneasily, hands wringing in nervousness. "Forgive me, Muthsera." He spoke softly, as if unaccustomed to speaking at all. "You are…Eiryn Acques?"

Eiryn tried to ignore her upset stomach and nodded. He didn't bear any weapons, wore no armor. Even his manner was unassuming, almost deferring to her as if she were an actual noble. Brown eyes, brown hair, with a face one would easily forget belied anything of importance.

He gave a curt bow, motioning to the docks. "My master sent me to ask if you would…have a word with him aboard your ship?"

Looking amid the mulling crowd along the docks, she noticed a cloaked figure standing near the gangway leading up to her ship, the Spellsong. He stood with another man, a servant by his manner and garb. Due to the hood covering his head, she could see nothing more about him.

"What does he want?" She asked.

The man wet dry lips. "He did not say, my lady. My master _did_ say that his words are for you alone, and it is most urgent."

Debating if she wanted to deal with some aristocrat in her current condition, she huffed a frustrated sigh. She had to go to the ship anyway. Perhaps this wouldn't' take long. She needed to supply the ship before she'd find a means to go to Akavir herself to find Saber. "But he didn't say as to what this was about?" She asked, knowing the man would remain at her heels.

"No ma'am." He answered quickly.

Her stride was purposeful as she drew closer to the stranger. He seemed to sense her approach, turning slightly with a casual lift of his hand to keep his hood as a means to avoid the sun. A polite bow followed suit, and he motioned with a wave of his hand he'd follow her on board.

Growing impatient, she took the lead, knowing he followed with the two servants behind. A quick nod of her head indicated to the small crew of the ship to stand guard. Two Argonions, a Bosmer woman, and an Orc grew stiff in sudden attentiveness towards their arrivals. Eiryn knew any one of them would attack with only a whisper of an order if she gave it. Each owed their lives to her and Saber, having been rescued from slavers not but three years ago.

Confident on the Spellsong, in her own domain, she led them into the cabin reserved for the 'captain'. Saber normally bore that title when on board. He had commissioned the vessel for fast travel. The blue and white striped sails had magic entwined into the material to catch and enhance the wind. The barest of breezes could carry the ship against the strongest of currents. This was essential to their traveling all over the island of Vvardenfell.

Although not large to any definition, the ship was flat bottomed and narrow, able to carry only a handful of passengers at one time. It was built for speed with the ability to navigate rivers and the islands near Sadrith Mora. This was not a supply boat, having no hold to speak of. Only a captain's cabin and a few rooms below for the modest crew was available for their comfort.

The main bedroom was set aside for privacy, leaving an area for visitors and entertaining. A large wooden table had been bolted to the floor as were the benches to prevent the furniture from shifting with the movement of the ship. Nearly everything was kept in cupboards or chests to further cut down on making mess during a storm, yet decorated enough with fastened paintings and tapestries to make it look comfortable.

"Now what is this about?" Eiryn asked, going to a cupboard to find something to settle her stomach. A potion of healing was the only thing she could find, unless she opted for Brandy. The thought of alcohol made her grimace.

"Your ship is impressive…" A rough voice spoke.

The flask slipped from her fingers to shatter on the floor. She knew the voice, damaged by a wound Saber had inflicted a lifetime ago. Although never having actually met the man, Saber had told her enough. "Nekros!"

Before she could move, the cloaked form side-stepped in front of the only means of escape. The hood was pulled aside and an otherwise human countenance gaze back in calm consideration. Amber eyes contrasted with the dark brown hair now combed back from his face. Pronounced cheekbones balanced a narrow chin and thin lips. The mouth curled into a gracious smile.

"Ah, I see Saber must have mentioned me." His lips parted slightly, just enough to show the elongated fangs. Her first thought was how he managed to walk in daylight, being a vampire. Saber had mentioned he had a fondness for magic. Perhaps he found a spell that allowed this..?

"What do you want?" Eiryn demanded. Hiding her fear was futile she knew. Only briefly did she consider screaming to get the crew to come, but knew Nekros was enough to slaughter all of them without a second thought.

"You cut straight to the chase." The ragged voice commented. He moved towards her, causing her to step back. His servants shifted to the door to keep guard, being sure to keep them in and others out. "I've always admired what a practical woman you are. Smart as well. I can see why Saber loves you so much-"

"What do you want?" Her voice grew hard, demanding hoping to mask her panic. She didn't want a part in his games. Nekros strode too close, cornering her before stopping not inches from where she stood. Here was a man known for brutal methods of killing his victims. An assassin by trade, he was also vampire and murderer. Saber had tried to kill him more than once.

"Your ship." His answer was simple, too simple.

Fear nearly choked her voice.

"Its for a good cause." Nekros added.

"What?"

His features relaxed, "I haven't come to harm you, Eiryn." He murmured softly, his voice almost purring. "But you'd hardly accept an invitation to meet me. And I am need of the fastest way possible to the Imperial City."

Swallowed against fear and sickness, she prayed inwardly he'd back off. "Wh-Why?" Her voice shook.

Her fear served to only goad a knowing smile. "Really Eiryn, I thought you would more brave than this." Nekros did back off then, taking a seat at the table as if they were going to sit for tea. "I haven't threatened you in any way. In fact, you only fear me by reputation. Surely you realize that if I wanted you dead, you would already be so?"

"Saber told me…things." She said, edging towards the door. The Nerevarine had told only a few stories of this vampire, how he'd delight in other's pain and misery. Nekros made it difficult to discern his plans, being a manipulating bastard. He'd lie if it served him. More importantly, Eiryn also recognized that he never truly let Saber go. He simply bide his time.

Nekros clucked his tongue. "That's hardly fair. I haven't made any move to harm what is his. And I would hardly touch his woman in any disreputable way." Amber eyes flickered up and down, judging her in the gown she rarely wore. "I must say, Saber has excellent taste in women."

"Why do you need my ship?" Eiryn hoped her voice sounded stronger now. His words made sense. If he'd meant to harm her, he'd hardly be talking to, would he?

The vampire looked around the simple but tasteful décor. "It's said the Spellsong is the fastest ship in all of Morrowind. I need to get to the Imperial City…today if possible."

She refused to ask her question again. Saber had told her about he simply avoided answering, or would distract with something else. Instead, she remained stoic, folding arms across her chest to wait.

Nekros leaned back on the chair to fold hands neatly before him on the table. His smile widened, knowing what she up to. "Does it matter what my reasons are?" Eiryn tilted her head, giving him no response as she waited for his answer. To this he laughed. "I could explain my story on the way…?" She shook her head no. The ship would not budge without his reply. He gave a soft puffing sigh, defeated. "Very well. Its not as though I hadn't considered you'd ask."

He motioned to one of his servants, who had been standing in front of the door like a guard dog. To the slight motion of the vampire's hand, the man hurried forward to lay a bundle of cloth on the table.

Nekros nudged the man away before he could unwrap the bundle. "Has Saber made any mention of our bond?"

To this, Eiryn stiffened. Only a few words had ever been spoken concerning dreams Saber had of Nekros from time to time. He often speculated the attempt Nekros had to transform him into a vampire failed but nonetheless affected him. He was vague as to how, alluding to Nekros being able to reach him through dreams from time to time. The two now bonded in some inexplicable way, unknown to even the most educated of mages.

"Yes, I see that he has." The vampire seemed too smug for her taste. "A month ago, I felt something….odd. Something very wrong." His hand waved in the air in a dismissive gesture. "I can't explain it very well, but I sensed something concerning Saber. I also had this flash of a Dunmer woman's face….someone named Dilvene."

Eiryn frowned, having to take a moment to place the name to a face. Wasn't she a Redoran?

"Bolvyn Venim's daughter, if you recall." Nekros clarified. "I caught up with her after the fall of Ald Ruhn a few days ago."

Yes, Eiryn thought, Ald Ruhn had been destroyed they say. "What about her?"

"She had this-" With nimble fingers, he pulled aside cloth to reveal a bauble that glowed with ancient enchantments. Even in the dim light, against the dark cloth, Eiryn recognized the ring immediately. The Moon-and-Star….

Several words wanted to pop out of her mouth, from demands to questions, to pleading the vampire to explain that Saber was still alive. _He'd never take the ring off willingly_. The ring was one of the few possessions the Nerevarine coveted. Her eyes felt suddenly hot with unshed tears. Memories of Bolvyn's daughter sprang to mind, of a woman unable to see past the fact her father lost a duel he had challenged a 'stupid n'wah'.

"Naturally I questioned her." Nekros continued, watching her reaction like a mage would watch his victim react to a spell. "Stubborn woman, foul mouthed when provoked, and I had to use certain…_methods_ to get her tell me anything at all-"

"What did she tell you?" Eiryn found her voice had grown small. No, please don't tell me he's dead….

"She sent him to the Imperial Prison." His words took a moment to sink in, not making any sense. Eiryn assumed he'd draw out his drama a bit longer, leading up to the cruel end of telling her the Nerevarine was dead….anything but sent to prison.

"How-?"

Nekros nodding, already knowing her questions, having asked them himself. "I have to admit, I admire her cunning. She had him stripped of all memory, wanting him to pay for the crime of murder by those that had pressed him to Morrowind in the first place." A wry smile widened his mouth. "Some Televani mages had allied with her, hoping to rid themselves of this Nerevarine upstart. They removed all memory of who he was, and where he came from. He's been charged with murder…"

Murder for a Dunmer Councilman who challenged him in the first place. Eiryn felt her own lips pull back in a snarl, wanting to claw that bitch's eyes out before skinning her alive. "Had she anything else to say?"

The vampire leaned back. "Only begging for her life, which did little to help her."

"She's dead?"

A slow nod was his reply. "And so…I need the ship to arrive in the Imperial City before its too late."

That caught her attention. She gaped, "Too late?"

"Murder is a capital offense, my dear." He explained, "He was scheduled to be executed."

And he was there for a month…? "He could be dead-" She spoke more to herself, unable to believe she may have lost him.

"No," The vampire's gaze was unwavering, leaving no doubt of his belief. "He is still alive." He didn't have to explain that he would know, somehow sense, his demise.

"We can be there by morning." Eiryn said firmly, moving to give the order to weigh anchor. Later she would wonder why she hadn't questioned him further, or perhaps mistrusted his words. All she knew was that Nekros had remained intent on keeping Saber alive, for whatever reason. She didn't care at the moment, only he had to be rescued. A hand grabbed her arm, tugging her to a standstill. Nekros was shaking his head.

"I see no reason for you to go-" He began to say.

Eiryn would have none of that talk. Not anymore. She yanked her arm free, shooting daggers in a white-hot glare. "This is my ship, Nekros. If you want the use of my ship, you will have to put up with me."

For some reason she had expected him to argue, but instead, found what could only be described as reluctant respect for her. "Then I must insist on a few things." He said flatly. "You will call me Eldwin Birian Plallo, of the Imperial City. No one…" He paused to let her understand the seriousness of his words. "_No one_ will know that I am Nekros. Is that understood?"

"And?"

"My retainers-" He gestured to his servants, "Will also come with us."

"I have little room for extravagances…_Eldwin_." She told him. Briefly did she wonder where he chose the name. "We barely enough room for the crew-"

He smiled, showing fangs. "Unless you will provide me with something to feed on-?" She started back, having forgotten only briefly of his nature. Now she knew why he had the servants with him. He had to feed on someone, needing blood. She cast a disgusted look at the two men, noticing scarves covered their throats. Cattle? Isn't that what the vampire clans often referred to their blood victims?

He gave a slight chuckle. "Oh don't look so surprised, or sorry for them." Nekros jerked his chin to both men. "I take very good care of them and all I ask is a little blood now and then."

She shot him a glare. "Did you suddenly develop a conscience?"

His smile faded quickly. Nekros became serious as death itself. "Yes…you could say something like that."

_Note: An odd alliance, don't you think? And the plot thickens…._


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter Two:

Three weeks prior

He awoke in pain. His head felt as though a jabbing knife of agony struck behind his eyes when he opened his eyes. Thoughts were like mud, unable to form a tangible thought as his body moved to a sitting position. A primal snarl crawled up his throat, to which he simply forced himself upright.

"Hey there!" A voice echoed too loud in the cell. "You kinsman!"

Unable to remember what or who he was, He looked around to find the source of the irksome voice. Moist stone came from all sides except one that bore a doorway of steel bars. The only décor found was a table and stool that appeared to fall apart if you so much as looked at them wrong. A narrow window high above the opposite wall gave little light and a bit of air wafted of ocean breezes. He grunted as he forced himself to his feet. The whole world seemed to tilt on its axis, causing him to stagger.

A gray skinned, red-eyed elf waved to him from across a narrow hallway. A shock of white hair contrasted with the dark tone of his skin, matching equally white brows. The elf moved closer to the bars of his cell.

"I haven't seen another Dunmer in here in I don't know how long!" The elf had an odd half sneer, half smile on his weathered face. "Where you from, huh? Vvardenfell?"

_Where am I from?_ Thoughts scattered, unable to find any bearing or direction.

"You got a wife back home?" The elf asked with a light snicker. "Tell you what- I'm getting out of here in a couple of weeks. When I get back to Morrowind, I'll look her up."

_Wife…?_ The unknown looked down at his hands, seeing the same gray flesh as the elf across the way. _Dunmer?_ _Is that what I am?_ Thoughts roused only slightly to affirm this. Somehow, through the fog of his mind, he knew enough that he was Dunmer, but little else. _A wife?_ No…nothing. He had no idea if he had family, let alone his origins.

"She must be so lonely…" The elf continued with a sarcastic smirk, "Don't you worry, eh? I'll take good care of her long after you're dead." A laugh barked out from his gruff voice, finding his own humor. "That's right! You're going to die in here!"

Looking at the walls closing in, the unknown prisoner scowled. "I don't remember coming here." Even his voice didn't sound familiar to him.

"Oh they must have hit you pretty hard on the head." The Dunmer chuckled. "At least, it _looks_ as though they hit you on the head."

Instinctively, the Unknown touched where he felt the most pain, finding bare skin instead of hair. Running his palm over his skull, several swelled areas protested any touch at all. "My name." He asked, looking back at the fellow prisoner. "Did they say my name?"

White brows shot up in surprise. "You really don't know, do you? Sarethi, I think is what they called you. Dalvyn Sarethi. Both are common enough names, as common as rats."

At least now he had something…"And the charges…"

"Murder!" The elf grinned with glee. "I do believe they said the charge against you was for murdering someone of importance." A low giggle echoed, "I'm afraid you won't have time to remember anything much."

Dalvyn scowled, hearing approaching voices with heavy footsteps of armored boots. He tried to shake off the confusion, to ignore the headache he felt.

"You hear that?" The elf feigned a frightened whisper. His smile shone teeth. "The guards are coming… _For you!"_

Dalvyn shot him a scathing glare. They'd not take him like a lamb to slaughter. He wanted answers. With no weapon, he could do nothing but prepare for a possible confrontation with bare hands if need be.

Voiced approached, "My sons…they're dead, aren't they?"

A woman's voice answered, "We don't know that, sire. The messenger only said they were attacked"

Dalvyn stepped back at seeing one guard turn the corner in the hallway between the row of cells. He assessed quickly for weapons, seeing long swords and full heavy armor. _Damn_. Two other guards and a well dressed older gentleman also rounded the corner, heading straight for his cell.

The older man, a human noble by all appearances, looked weathered and heavy with the weight of things to come. "No…" His voice softened, "They're dead. I know it."

The woman that had spoken earlier turned out to also be one of the guards, bearing the same heavy armor. "My job right now is to get you to safety." Her gaze sharpened upon seeing him in the cell, her brow beneath the helm lowered. "What's this prisoner doing here? This cell is supposed to be off limits!"

Despite her slim size, and obvious younger age took nothing away from the strength of commanding these men. Blue eyes were piercing. Dalvyn couldn't help but feel a bit of relief at her words. It meant they weren't here for _him_.

Her companion looked awkward against her intense stare, armor rattling. "Usual mix up with the Watch…I…"

The woman lifted her hand to silence him. Dalvyn recognized her as the one in charge. "Never mind. Get that gate open."

Taking her orders, the man stiffened. "Stand back, prisoner. We won't hesitate to kill you." His hand rested on the pommel of his sword in warning.

Knowing the time of his execution was not at hand, Dalvyn did as ordered, stopping at the far end of the cell to give them space. Although, why they needed to bother him otherwise was unsettling. He was certain they were not for him. Why then come in _here_?

All three guards and the older man entered the prison cell, with two of the men keeping a sharp on him. "Stay put!" He warned.

Meanwhile another guard remained behind, looking back as if expected they were being followed. "No sign of pursuit-" He said.

"Good." The woman said, "Let's go. We're not out of this yet."

The elderly man, someone of great importance by the way the guards deferred to him, began walking by as the woman guard touched a stone in the wall. Where the sleeping shelf sat, the wall slid back revealing a hidden passageway. The heavy slab grated into nothing but a stepping stone. _So this is where they were headed…_

"You…" The elderly man gaped, staring wide eyed at Dalvyn. "I've seen you…"

Dalvyn stiffened, confused as to where this man could've have possibly seen him before.

"You are the ones from my dreams…" To this, even his guards halted in their tracks to stare at the prisoner as if he'd grown six legs. He could hardly blame them, even as the man continued his litany, he had his own doubts of having ever seen this man before. The pale blue eyes turned grim. "Then the stars were right…and this is the day. Gods give me strength..!"

Dalvyn felt their combined scrutiny. "What's going on?"

The man straightened, "Assassins attacked my sons,.. and I'm next." A wave of a withered hand indicated to the armored guards. "My Blades are leading me out along a secret escape route. By chance, the entrance to that escape route leads through your cell."

"And you are…?" Not that it mattered much to Dalvyn, but curiosity got the better of him.

"I am your Emperor, Uriel Septim. By the grace of the Gods I serve Tamriel as her ruler."

"Tamriel…" He mouthed the words, still remembering nothing. Even knowing the name of the lands he was in served nothing to giving him memories of who he was.

"You are a citizen of Tamriel, and you too shall serve her in your own way."

Dalvyn scowled, sensing the man knew something more but wasn't saying. _I serve no one… _"And why am I in jail?"

To this, the guards seemed surprised. Wouldn't a prisoner know the reason of his imprisonment? The emperor gave a soft, knowing smile. "Perhaps the gods have placed you here so we would meet. As for what you've done….it does not matter. That is not what you will be remembered for."

_He reads the future?_ _Perhaps the gods speak to him or he thinks they speak to him, _Dalvyn only realized that he didn't much care the idea of being led on a path not of his own choosing. "I go my own way." He replied firmly, unsure if there words for his own benefit or by convincing this man made them any more real to him.

The emperor nodded with a chuckle, His disbelief was obvious. "You will find your own path. Take care…" He motioned to the guards to move on. "There will be blood and death before the end."

The prisoner refused to admit to his own sense that the wheels of Fate were turning against him. Shouldn't I be glad? It would seem Fate had, after all, giving him the means to escape the prison. Brushing aside worry, he watched them file down the darkened corridor, with only the last of the guards giving a sniff of distain.

"Today is your lucky day." He said with a snide grin, "Just stay out of our way."

_How can I miss them by the clatter of their armor?_ He heard rather than saw them disappear down the narrow hole, and wondered how they believed they could avoid trouble with all the noise. _Ah well, no concern of mine…_

All Dalvyn wanted was to find his own freedom…

Note: I don't appreciate using actual scenes not of my own making, but I felt this was essential to the story line. I wanted the reader to understand the extent of his loss of memory, and that he's become a bit more edgy and keen on surviving. I'm working on more than one story, and a number of other projects so hopefully I'll organize myself enough to get more done. Enjoy!


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Nekros didn't particularly like ships, let alone travel by sea. Not that the sun concerned him, or the threat of storm. A ring enchanted with powerful spells allowed him to walk during the brightest of days. He overheard the ship's crew comment on the shape of clouds telling them their trip would be uneventful. He also couldn't feel seasick, being no longer human. The sea, however, was immense. He looked out to the endless horizon, feeling small. The infinite sky above matched the fathomless sea below. With the sun hanging low to the far horizon, the blue had turned to brilliant pinks and purples. Clouds became vast mountains of color in the sky above. Truly, this was not a place for a man unaccustomed to being so humbled.

The woman, Eiryn, seemed to be a bit green around the edges. The crew showed concern to which she waved them off claiming seasickness or worry. She tried to hide her malaise, but he knew better when her face grew pale. He also knew her being sick wasn't entirely from being aboard the vassal.

Travel, Eiryn had told him, would take the day through the night. By dawn, they'd see the shores of Cyrodil. He leaned on the railing, watching the passing waves with appreciation of the marvelous ship. He might commission one himself, to enjoy the fast travel. Such things were luxuries for his kind. Too often, he found himself imprisoned in a sunless room until nightfall. The rings helped, but magic waxed and waned. He hated feeling susceptible to the daylight or at risk to vampire hunters, zealots and the like. Fast travel would serve nicely in expanding the world he'd come to know.

He agreed to allow Eiryn along for the ride in the hopes of having the crew follow orders. Somehow, he doubted they'd trust him, especially if they discovered his true nature. The thought of being at sea, on a ship full of mutinous screw didn't appeal to him in the least. Even his own control of the two men he'd taken on as retainers was tenuous at best. As long as they were given enough coin, he had their fidelity. He suspected they enjoyed the pampering he gave them, but Nekros knew how easily loyalty to one of his kind failed. Finding trustworthy followers was difficult to come by.

"You said he was alive." A voice spoke behind him. The vampire tensed, suddenly aware that the woman had approached and he hadn't heard her. _I'm losing my touch…_

"Yes," Nekros said, turning back to watch the passing waves.

The footsteps drew closer until she stopped beside him. Her boldness stunned him. There was undeniable terror before, now she stood at ease not an arm's reach from him. He looked at the young woman, caught off guard by the plaintive stare of eyes too green in the setting sun. She had no fear of him for now. Perhaps she felt safe on her own ship. He wasn't sure to admire her bravery, or pity her innocence.

The woman was not tall, barely reaching his shoulder. One might consider her a Bosmer (wood elf) by her height except she had no pointed ears. It was said the Breton had a glimmer of elven blood in them, shown obvious in her heart shaped face. She still wore the gown that showed off her slim figure. Chestnut hair was now bound in a long braid with several locks tugging free to whip across her face.

She was not, Nekros realized, a classic beauty. Not like that other woman Saber admired. What was her name? Ah yes, Lyra. Lyra had grown into a stunning exquisiteness following the course of a courtesan. Even as a girl, she'd shown such promise in her attractiveness and poise. She also was aware of how her looks affected men. The vampire couldn't find much else about her that appealed to him. Saber, however, appreciated her affections on occasion, perhaps delighted with that honey sweet disposition. This one, however, had more of a natural beauty, but something else. She was a fighter, an adventurer. Eiryn Acques had an intoxicating edge to her, even she didn't realize it in herself. Her presence more than made up for the short stature.

Saber certainly knew how to choose his women.

"Are you certain?"

She wanted proof, to which he had none. "Yes, I am certain." He paused long enough to close eyes, feeling out in search for the elusive Nerevarine. There was something akin to the faded heartbeat or lightest of thought familiar to him. "He is still alive."

Her silence was thick in doubt.

"You don't trust me."

"Should I?" She challenged him.

"No." He replied flatly, looking back at her with an unblinking stare. "But then, I don't care if you do or not. Your trust is of no consequence to me."

Nekros noted her eyes flickered to his throat, betraying her curiosity of the livid scar left there. No doubt Saber had told her as much as he could about that. He often kept the old wound covered by a scarf, but the cloth had been fallen away by the strong winds of the sea. Vanity prevented him from showing off what would've killed any normal man. He wasn't proud of the fact his apprentice, a mere whip of a boy at the time, had done the deed. But then, he was certain Eiryn couldn't possibly know all that went on that night.

"Did Saber tell you about this?" He lifted his chin to let her see the wound. "His handiwork."

Her face was an unreadable mask. Only the slight movement of her swallowing betrayed any sense of disgust. "Its my understanding it was justified." She told him in a dry tone.

At the time, Nekros hardly thought so. Pain was still raw as memories drew to the surface. Betrayal, after being so careful in judging others for survival, was not something Nekros took to heart. "I have to admit, he was clever about it. He poisoned all the glasses in our home, you see. Indris root." A forced smile pushed away weakness, "A poison that is quite painful, but he knew that." Her lips thinned as he spoke, letting him know the affects of his words had on her. "But I suppose a young boy couldn't quite fight a grown man, now could he? I'm sure he knew I had to be weakened first before slicing my throat open."

Eiryn turned, releasing a snort of derision. "Nekros, the assassin, was well known for his brutal methods of murder. Some said he enjoyed making his victims suffer before they died."

"I'm a legend." The vampire shrugged with false modesty. He gave a small chuckle. "I expected the same ruthlessness from my apprentice. That he would be like me. I hadn't expected to find that in him so young."

"He's nothing like you!" Eiryn said fiercely.

Nekros was surprised by her sudden vehemence, almost admiring her quick defense of the mer she loved. He envied that Saber could invoke that sort of devotion. He also hated her for it, reminding him that she had what was by all rights his. "Oh Saber is more like me than he lets on." The vampire smiled slowly, "More so now I think."

The woman's gaze sharpened, "What do you mean?"

"You see, my attempt at changing him didn't work. That is, he didn't become a vampire, but something else did happen."

"I know about the …_connection_…you have with him."

Nekros nodded, "A sharing of souls, or blood. Perhaps a bit of both."

"Meaning?"

"You asked me if I developed a conscious. I did, to a certain degree." He had to admit seeing her shocked expression was pleasing. "As you can see by my retainers, I do not have to kill to feed. Even then, I generally choose those no one would forget, let alone care if they …disappeared. Most are criminals. As of late, I've lived a life hampered by a degree of emotion and…principles. Not that I allow either to stop me from pursuing my goals. But then my …darkness…seemed to have infected him as well."

Her expression grew pensive. Clearly, she wanted to deny his words, to refute that her hero could be anything but the mer she came to love, but she knew. He could see it in her eyes; she had sensed a change in him for some time now.

"I believe you were the only thing to stop him from delving further into that darkness. You were the steady force in his life to remind him all that is right and good." Nekros continued relentlessly. He gazed at the setting sun. "And you must remember, Eiryn. You are no longer there for him."

The young Breton was deeply affected by that, green eyes now sparkling too bright with unshed tears.

"I expect, his no longer having your gentle guidance…" He let the words fade, watching her grip the rail with white knuckles. "I wonder if you'll like what you see when we find him?"

"You really are a bastard, aren't you?" She whispered.

This made Nekros laugh outright. Humans were so easy to play, their emotions so fragile. "So you realize that we might find ourselves a brutal killer? Our Lord Nerevar might finally give in to the more primal urges…?" He snickered at the thought, "Take heart, my dear. Perhaps good will triumph over evil. Perhaps your dear Saber will remember only you, or the gods will take matters and guide him home. Then again, he might become the killer he was meant to be…"

She glared daggers before tuning on her heel. Nekros cast a smug grin in her wake; waiting may have paid off for him after all.

(A month earlier)

Taking opportunity, Dalvyn made his escape. He kept a safe distance from the emperor and his guards as they entered the secret passageway. Keeping to the shadows, the Dunmer watched silently as assassins appeared from nowhere. Whatever the attackers were, each wore summoned matching armor and swords, and attacked with intent ferocity. They worked as a group, seemingly coming out of the very walls. Their captain, a woman named Renault, had been killed before she could draw her sword.

Beneath the Imperial City, Dalvyn soon discovered was an immense warren of tunnels, sewers, and even ruins. The emperor and his guards left him in the dark to fend for himself. As they disappeared behind a locked gate, the Dunmer fumed as to what they expected him to do then. Did they expect him to return to his cell? He soon found a broken wall, and more tunnels beyond.

Dalvyn now had her sword, finding the feel of a weapon's pommel as natural as breathing to him. He watched the last two guards lead their emperor past a gate, locking this behind them. Having no other choice, the escaped prisoner opted to find another way out.

He'd kept in the shadows, happening upon a broken piece of wall. Two rats the size of dogs startled him, only to find a sword's edge taking off their heads. It seemed best to remain anonymous as he traveled through the darkness, having no wish to alert the creatures down here. He discovered the remains of…someone, perhaps a lost adventurer, laying beside a chest of useful items. A leather cuirass provided much needed protection, and a rusty bow with a modest sum of arrows added to his arsenal.

Most creatures he encountered were rats, but goblins were another matter. Dalvyn dispatched the lot of them one by one, having discovered he had a good shot with the bow. Aiming for vital areas made quick work, including what could only be a shaman of the goblin's tribe. Endless dark and struggle served to sharpen his senses when he once again happened upon the emperor making his escape.

Dalvyn crouched low upon hearing sounds of battle, crept slowly to an open piece of wall. There he watched the emperor with the last two guards fending off the assassins once more. He'd do nothing, of course, feeling spiteful to having been left behind once before. He owed them nothing.

Once the fray died down, he could tell they were victorious once more. Four more bodies lay on the ground. This told him the guards must be good at what they did, being formidable foes should Dalvyn decide to challenge them. He remained in the shadow, catching bits of conversation.

"…find a defensible spot…"

"We need to get the Emperor out of here…"

"I think that was the last of them…"

"Have you seen the prisoner?"

Dalvyn tensed, remaining where he was upon recognizing the emperor's voice. It was a strong voice, belying his advanced age. What would he care of a lowly prisoner?

"Do you think he followed us? How could he?" One of the guards voiced his doubts.

"Sire," The other said, "We must get going-"

"Not yet, Let me rest a moment longer."

Dalvyn considered options, wondering if he might encounter assassins on his own. No doubt, he'd be mistaken to be on the wrong side; that side being his own. He also considered his sense of direction in this dark place and would he be able to ever find his way out. Taking a bet, he hopped down from the wall, sheathing his sword. It was a risk, but he guessed they wouldn't attack him unarmed.

A guard immediately took offense, "Dammit, its that prisoner!" He shouted, "Kill him-!"

The Dunmer stepped back, drawing out his own weapon, regretting his decision. Before he could thrust however, the Emperor lifted a commanding hand.

"No, he is not one of them." He said, ordering them down. They reluctantly did so. The faded blue eyes shifted onto Dalvyn, " He can help us. He must help us."

Help? He wants _my_ help? The prisoner gaped.

"They cannot understand why I trust you." The man said. Dalvyn remained silent, not understanding himself. Was it possible they didn't know what he'd done, what his crime had been? "They've not seen what I've seen. How can I explain…Listen, you know the Nine?"

The Dunmer frowned, searching the darkness of memory finding nothing even remotely telling him what Nine he was talking about.

The Emperor gave a patient smile, "How they guide our fates with an invisible hand?"

_Oh_, Dalvyn refrained from rolling his eyes, _that Nine, a belief in gods no doubt._ Fate certainly had a hand in throwing him into a cell with no memory to speak of and a death sentence. Now Fate had plans on using _him?_

"I served the Nine all my days." The emperor continued. "And I chart my course by the cycles of the Heavens. The skies are marked with numberless sparks, each a fire, and every one a sign. I know these stars well, and I wonder…which marked you your birth?"

"What?" The Dunmer asked, growing more annoyed. "My birth?"

"The day you were born," One of the guards added to help. "Which sign were you born under?"

_I can't remember my name and I'm expected to remember the day of my birth?_ _We're discussing the stars and he's followed by assassins intent on killing him? Is he mad?_ He stared literally struck speechless.

"Ah," The old man nodded slowly, "You don't know. I would say…the Lady..?"

_The who-?_

"The signs I read show the end of my path." He told him, somber now. "My death, a necessary end will come when it will come. Your stars are not mine. Today the Lady shall fortify you in your quest for glory."

_He's not making any sense…_Dalvyn cast a curious eye to the guards, wondering if they also believed this trot. By the unwavering attention of the both of them, they did. Perhaps it was just loyalty, or admiration of this man, but Dalvyn didn't understand half of the words said to him.

"And you see my Fate?" He said, interrupting the emperor. He caught a gasp from the guard closest to him. Scowls and matching glares told him they didn't appreciate his lack of proper respect.

The emperor only chuckled, "My dreams grant me no opinion of success."

Before he continued another litany, Dalvyn interrupted once again. "So what now?"

"You shall follow me yet for a while." He spoke with conviction, as if he had, indeed dreamed all this would come to pass. "Then we must part."

_Good_…Dalvyn knew his chances now were better in escaping this windowless maze in a group than alone. And the ruler of Tamriel also indicated to his guards, freedom was his. _Even better._

The dark skinned guard frowned. "You may as well make yourself useful. Here-" A torch was thrust out, "carry this torch and stick close."

Tolerating orders, the Dunmer took up the back position, following them thru the darkness.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Eiryn was surprised to find one of Nekros' servants knock upon her door as the hour grew late. She believed his name was Frande. Quiet by his nature, she wondered how he happened to be mixed up with a vampire, allowing himself to be used as cattle. He gave a brief nod before announcing that Sir Eldwin wished to speak to her before their arrival to the Imperial City. As much as she loathed to meet with him, her curiosity got the best of her.

Eiryn was surprised to find Nekros hadn't complained about the cramped quarters given to him and his servants. Built for speed and easy navigation , the Spellsong had few amenities as large rooms or even a cargo hold. Only two narrow beds, one atop another, offered them a place to sleep. Two chairs and a narrow table had the only lantern to illuminate the small space.

Nekros was still awake and appeared more laid back and at ease. He leaned precariously on the legs of a chair, with feet propped on another chair, sharpening his sword. The small table was covered with oil, sharpening stones, and pieces of cloth for cleaning. This was the most relaxed she'd seen him. The illusion of being human had returned, she guessed only long enough as she was in his presence. Briefly, she wondered if this was his true human face, or one he picked at random.

Clothes were simpler now, having changed into a cotton shirt with a scarf to hide the neck wound. Trousers were plain black, and feet bare. The smooth hair was now tousled, with some of the length falling forward across his eyes. A quick flip of his head, cleared vision, staring back at her with eyes of deep amber.

"Ah, I wasn't sure you'd come." He commented. His voice rasped from damage by the wound at his throat, sounding almost like a growl or purr depending on his volatile moods. It didn't fit his refined and graceful manner, which only further confused the matter that beneath the smooth exterior was a very lethal and pitiless killer.

Folding arms across her chest, Eiryn shifted uneasily in the closed confines of the room. "I only have to tolerate you until the morning….I'm assuming that of course." Deep insider her, her conscience voiced caution. He was a killer after all, but he'd hardly kill me on my own ship, she reasoned.

Thin lips widened into a smile, showing no teeth. "Always practical…" He murmured. The sword was set aside, as he got to his feet on one fluid movement. Only then, she noticed his second servant was lying on the bed, still and pale. The body was curled in the blankets, with his head half-hidden beneath a pillow. Nekros caught her gaze and shrugged. "Don't concern yourself. He is just sleeping."

_He sleeps as one of the dead_, Eiryn said to herself. "What did you want to talk about?" The other servant took the opposite seat, now vacated of his master's feet to eat his meal.

"I have a concern-" Nekros began, then stopped himself before giving her an odd look. He expected some biting remark or insult after their last conversation. "Saber's loss of memory."

"What about it?"

"To get it back…might be a challenge."

"Good." She said curtly. "I love challenges."

Fortunately he was more amused than insulted by her brusque tone. "You'll need to go to the Arcane University to speak with someone about this spell they used on him." He pushed aside a jumble of papers on the tiny desk in the room. "I believe our dear departed Dilvene had commissioned this particular spell from some Televani mages. The University might know something more about such practices."

"Why not just ask the Televani to fix it?" She countered. Eiryn wondered if they may have used some form of Necromancy, or darker magic to achieve their goal.

Nekros lifted a brow in mock interest. "Oh certainly, the Televani who did this would be more than happy to reverse the effects."

"Point taken…" Her voice was somber. "But we _know_ other Televani…"

"And they would help?" The vampire found what he was looking for, the notes he'd taken during Dilvene's questioning. Blood droplets were now brown in age.

He didn't expect Eiryn to answer, knowing already that House Televani were a self-serving lot of Dunmer. They very likely had much to do with turning a blind eye to those wanting to rid themselves of the Nerevarine who helped end slavery. Slavery, they had depended on until a few years ago. Their economy had suffered, having to hire servants instead of simply buying and using up slaves.

He handed the parchment to Eiryn who glanced over the words. "School of Illusion…?" She read out loud, her lovely features twisting in confusion. "I don't understand….how does knowing this help?"

"Interesting, don't you think?" Nekros commented, "This memory wipe is a powerful spell from the school of illusion-" Her bewildered expression didn't change. "I take it you're not familiar with magick?"

She handed the paper back, "How does knowing this help?"

"This tells us that his memory loss is really an illusion, or rather…a _delusion_ as it were." He explained to her. "He carries his memories, he simply can't access them. The spell was experimental, and they only theorized a reversal of the magic."

"And? How do we do it?"

"It could be any number of things." The vampire told her. He motioned to his servant, now done with his meal, to vacate his seat for her. The man did so, choosing to go to bed and ignore them. She remained stoic and unmoving, refusing to accept a seat I his presence. He shrugged. "A familiar face, or an event that might jog memory."

"Like perhaps seeing you…?" Eiryn wondered out loud. He was unmoved, having asked himself the same thing. There was no secret that Saber loathed his presence. Every one of their meetings had been dramatic to say the least.

"Or seeing you." He countered, though his words had less venom. Seeing a woman he loved might be just the thing to reverse the spell's affects. "I'm also thinking perhaps wearing the Moon-and-Star."

Eiryn had just about forgotten about the legendary ring. "Of course…" She gasped, remembering his going through a dramatic change when he placed it upon his finger. He'd often told her how the spirit of Lord Nerevar, the old Dunmer general of myth and legend, seemed to impart himself upon him.

"Even the Manos blade might be enough to provoke memories in him." Nekros tapped the curved sword lying on the table. Only then, Eiryn noticed he'd been sharpening and oiling the blade with meticulous care. The sword had quite a history with the vampire, being the very sword that led Saber on his path to eventually kill his master. The soft blue glow of the blade whispered of a soul trap spell, perhaps even more enchantments the Nerevarine never mentioned.

She frowned, suddenly very aware of the situation she was in. Nekros had helped Saber on more than on occasion after that fateful time beneath the stronghold of Kogoruhn. He was risking quite a lot in coming this far to find the Nerevarine. Sparing his life on the first occasion, he had literally saved his life on others. Now again, he was risking quite a bit to find Saber. "Why are you doing this?"

This time both brows shot up by the unexpected, and direct question. "Why?" He echoed.

"Yes why. You are a self serving, narcissistic and let's not forget cruel …man." The last word seemed difficult to get out. She wasn't sure what he was. Would a vampire be considered a man anymore? "Why are you doing this?'

Eyes narrowed as Nekros grew very still. "I would think you wouldn't question as long as you received my help." The broken voice had lowered to almost a growl.

"Saber often wondered where your intentions lie…"

"Oh he knows." Nekros gave a shrug of dismissal. "He simply refuses to acknowledge those reasons."

Eiryn was surprised by his calm conviction. He really though Saber knew. Why would this viscious killer to such lengths to restore Saber's memory? Realization was like the sun after a storm, enlightening her on all the reasons as to why Nekros would do this. She felt almost faint. "You love him…"

Amber eyes flared a yellow gold, as concentration wavered on the spell that held the human illusion. "You walk very carefully." He warned her off. Though he hadn't moved an inch, he seemed suddenly very formidable indeed. Even his servants moved in their sleep, sensing their master's sudden foul mood.

_All this time_, Eiryn thought to herself… This would make sense to why he sparred Saber's life beneath Kogoruhn, why he persistently entered his life and remained oddly ….loyal….in light of what he was. Curiosity got the better of her. "Is this because of your bond? Your…new found conscience?"

In one swift movement, Nekros had moved like a snake, crossing the short feet that separated them until she was against the door with a light thud. She had no time to cry out before a fierce grip pressed against her throat nearly choking her. He pushed her against the door, pinning her there with a furious glare.

The illusion was gone, leaving only the vampire, and left little doubt his human self was what he once had looked like. "Shall I show you how much of a conscience I have?" He snarled, baring fangs. Long canines, she knew, that had ripped throats out. Clawing at the unforgiving grip on her throat proved ineffective. The close proximity was torture for the young Breton, having lost any semblance of courage now. She would have screamed if not for the grip around her throat. Only a feeble half-whimper, half grunt managed to escape her through her struggles.

_He is so strong! _There was no doubt he could snap her in two if he wished it. Both of servants roused only long enough to remain as they were. She'd receive no help from either of them. She could barely breath let alone cry out for help. She was at his mercy. Terror swept over her, knowing here was a man without compassion, an assassin by all accounts. She never completely understood Saber's loathing of his former master. Now she knew why.

The vampire leaned very close, "And _if_ that were true, if I were capable of love," He continued to growl, "Then reason would have it that I'd have to kill you."

The young scout felt lost. She miscalculated badly. She swallowed against the pressure on her throat, trying not to cough and sputter. He'd said he didn't let something like principles or morals stand in his way. His rage seemed too sudden, unpredictable, but the young Breton also sensed here was a man who hated anyone knowing who or what he was.

A wicked smile crossed his mouth, with eyes narrowing dangerously. "Or perhaps I'd simply take pity on you and change you, eh?" The thought goaded him to laugh, "Perhaps you'd come to know what makes me tick then."

_Become a vampire?_ Panic and terror collided as she struggled, or tried to. He was unmoving, like steel and just as cold. Never had Eiryn felt so helpless. A soft whimper escaped her. He chuckled in response.

"So what will it be, Eiryn?" He asked, taking delight her in her fear. "Shall I kill you, or shall you become of my kind?" He leaned forward as if he were to bite or nuzzle her neck. She tensed, holding her breath in expectation. Any moment she expected the sharp fangs to sink in. She even flinched when lips touched the tender flesh of her throat. He grew very still, keeping her there. She heard his growling voice too close to her ear. "Just think….you'd remain beautiful …and stay with your precious Saber forever."

Eiryn gasped at the idea he'd consider this, but perhaps more that the idea of staying with Saber for centuries had a certain appeal. Damn him, she cursed Nekros. The young Breton again tried to struggle. Her attempt was futile, and panic rose. By now he'd pressed his entire body against hers, becoming a wall of unmoving flesh. He was enjoying her struggles, almost as if her fighting was spurring him on.

Knowing it was pointless to push him off, she forced herself to calm. "You won't be able to move this boat…" She tried to reason with him, her voice a strained whisper. Thoughts grasped desperately for rationale against his anger, to find some way to deter him from this course.

Another wicked laugh answered her. "My dear Eiryn," He said, leaning so close his lips almost touched hers, "Can it be you still don't realize your predicament?"

She swallowed, knowing he could feel her body shaking in terror. "Nekros…." Would he listen to begging?

"Shhhh…." He whispered, "Just say it…."

"What?"

He nodded, his voice becoming a hoarse whisper. "Your choice."

"But-" Hot tears welled in her eyes, and she simply couldn't believe she let this creature on board her ship. Trusting him was a bad mistake. Now given the question, having only those choices, she was forced to consider he was seriously going to kill her. Would she prefer to become a vampire or would she rather be dead? Death was…permanent… She closed her eyes, swooning with the depth of choice. "I don't….want to die."

"I didn't think so." He murmured, his voice rasped over the words. She heard him drew in a breath, as if catching her scent and enjoying the fear he found there, like some aged brandy to be savored, Just as suddenly as he'd attacked, he backed off.

Overwhelmed, Eiryn fell to the floor in a heap. Fear left her trembling, unsure now if she could run if she had to. She gasped, trembling, clutching her throat just to be certain he hadn't bitten her. Confusion touched on the edges of sanity. "What-?"

The vampire moved back to his seat, completely as ease once more. The whole attack had been nothing but his getting a point across to her. Once seated, his head tilted slightly, "I will tolerate none of your judgments." He stated firmly, again holding an illusion of being human. An amber gaze looked back steadily, unwavering. "And do not begin to question my motives."

The Breton stared with new understanding of what Saber must have endured as a child. Everything Merthisan had told her, explaining what manner of person Saber was came to light. More importantly, she also grasped that conscience or not, Nekros was not someone you trifled with, not even a little bit.

Nekros turned away to look at the daggers he intended on sharpening, as if dismissing her. "We should be arriving in Cyrodil soon." The words were a mix of orders and statements. "After we find Saber, you will go to the University to speak with the mages about possible cures."

Unsettled by what transpired, Eiryn drew herself back on unsteady feet. All she could do is nod and slip out the door as quickly as possible. Before she could reach the door, however, she barely managed to reach the ship's railing before losing the contents of her stomach.

"Master…?" A soft voice drifted up from one of the bunks. Nekros looked to find the servant Frande staring back at him from the covers.

"What is it?" The vampire continued the sharpening of blades, finding the simple act of stone against steel comforting.

"If you had killed her, how would we have steered the boat?"

It was a valid question, mused Nekros, one he'd indulge this once. "I never intended on killing her." He told his servant, not even bothering to look up from his work.

"But why?"

"Why wouldn't I kill her?" Nekros settled back in his chair at the curt nod. He stared at the closed door, knowing the woman had left feeling terribly sick. Her scent still lingered in the small room. "Should Saber regain his memory, he'd never forgive me if I harmed her. Eiryn is also essential to him now than ever before. If my plan doesn't come to fruition, and he does remember their relationship, I'll need her alive and well."

Frande tilted his head in question. "How is she important?"

Nekros smiled, returning to the scraping of steel. "Our dear Eiryn is pregnant, Frande." He gave a soft grunt that could've been interpreted as a laugh. "And I have to admit… I rather like her."

Note: PLEASE refrain from making any comments in giving the end of the chapter away in reviews. I'd like readers to get the surprise. Makes you wonder if Nekros treats people he likes in this manner, how does he treat those he hates! lol


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter Five:

Weeks earlier… 

"Here," A Torch was thrust into Dalvyn's hand. He glared back at the Redguard who put it there. Brown eyes were shades lighter than the tone of his skin, but all other features remained hidden beneath the armored helm. The man sneered, obviously unhappy with been saddled with the prisoner on their quest to escape. "Make yourself useful. Carry that torch and stick close."

Dalvyn scowled, resenting being ordered, but knew he was outnumbered two to one; three if you were to count the emperor. He'd take up the end of the small entourage of the escape, though the emperor's words still left him feeling no closer to knowing who he was or where he'd come from.

_Fate, the man had told him…such a small word carrying such a heavy burden. But I have no Fate any more than I have memory of who I am_, Dalvyn reasoned. He eyed the back of the two remaining guards ahead and the well dressed noble between them. _Why would any of them trust me, let alone ask me for my help? I'm a murderer, a criminal._ He scowled, feeling the growing unease of Fate tightening its noose around his neck.

The maze of tunnels beneath the prison was impressive by any standards. The white marble was broken at walls or small columns, yet nothing hid the obvious care ancient architects had taken in carving in the stone. The high domed ceilings hid shadows as did the mismatch of shelves, depressions, and stairwells. This was ideal for the persistent assassins, Dalvyn discovered to his dismay, when three of them appeared out of nowhere. He had no time to speculate if they entered through doorways or by magic portals-

He immediately took offense, letting instinct guide his hand. Blocking a sword meant to shear off his head with the torch in his hand, he thrust the sword at another. The first howled in pain as the flames blinded him, leaving him open to the guards to run him through. The other didn't make a sound as he slumped from a lethal wound to his chest. The third assailant died by the emperor's blade. _Good, at least he doesn't let us do all the work for him._

The dark skinned guard, named Baurus, looked at him oddly, his gaze flickered from the fallen back to the prisoner. "You're pretty good with that sword." Distrust with apparent in his tone. Perhaps he was trying to figure out why he'd been in the prison cell after all.

_Your guess is as good as mine_. The Dunmer wiped the blade on the dead man's robe. Pausing in his grisly task, he could now see a face beneath the hood. Human by the looks of him, middle aged, and having nothing outwardly that would separate him from anyone else. The other body was a yellow skinned elf, with eyes gone pale and blank in death. Dalvyn made sure to remove anything of value, which wasn't much from the corpses, only finding two potions from both.

The other guard, a man by the name of Glenroy motioned for them to move on, having the prisoner remain in the rear of their line. Only a few moments later, two more robed men attacked this time from the front. Immediately, the Imperial guard pushed himself as a shield to the emperor. Dalvyn gripped the nobleman's robe, yanking him back to give the man room enough to swing his sword. Within seconds, two more attackers lay dead.

"Let's go." The Redguard ordered. He cast another questioning look in Dalvyn's direction but said nothing more.

They moved with guarded steps, eyeing every shadow as a possible means for an attack. As they entered into a large room with too many entrances from barred doors and hiding places, Glenroy lifted his hand to call for a halt. Wide set eyes of blue were too small for the broad face. "Hold up," He told them, "I don't like this. Let me take a look."

Dalvyn edged back, listening at the door behind them for any signs of pursuit. "Nothing." He mouthed to the darker of the two guards. A brief nod acknowledged him, and they moved once more into the larger area.

The other paused between two large pillars, remaining cautious as he looked around. He waved his hand for them to approach. "Looks clear." He said cautiously, "Come on, we're almost through to the sewers."

Dalvyn grimaced. _Sewers? Are they serious? Bad enough we have to slink through these tunnels with the two of them making enough noise that could wake the dead._ He didn't enjoy the prospect of mucking about in filth too. Saying nothing, he followed orders. Freedom was too close to question their motives.

They went directly to a closed gate, which by the forceful shove against the steel grate left no doubt their only way out was cut off.

"Dammit!" Glenroy growled in frustration. He kicked the gate with a metal boot for good measure. "The gate is barred from the other side! It's a trap!"

"You think?" Dalvyn muttered, just as frustrated.

"What about that side passage back there?" Baurus gestured with his sword to an open doorway, leaving them the only way.

Fools, Dalvyn scowled knowing they were led to slaughter if they went that way. On the other hand, he thought darkly, what other choice to do we have?

"Worth a try." The guard spat angrily, "Let's go."

The side passage revealed to be no passage at all. An enclosed room sealed with only way in, and only way out.

"It's a dead end!" Glenroy stated the obvious. He rubbed his face in agitation, turning to the Redguard. "Its your call sir."

"I don't know." The Redguard admitted, casting a worried glance to the prisoner. "I don't see any good options here."

Dalvyn eyed the stonework of the walls, trying to discern a possible escape. Surely, with as many locked doors, broken walls, and entranceways the assassins could come from any direction. Whoever or whatever these attackers were seemed to hold some knowledge of passages even unknown to these buffoons, even the emperor himself. _Perhaps I chose the wrong side_, he considered. _This isn't my fight_- Sounds of metal scraping against stone alerted them to more assassins behind them.

Immediately the guards were at the ready. Baurus looked grim, perhaps realizing this was his end. "They're behind us." The tone was thick was apology for his failing to protect him. "Wait here, sire." He turned a sharper eye to Dalvyn, "Wait here with the emperor. Guard him with your life!"

The Dunmer glared back, but said nothing. Instead, he watched the men run back to the room, swords drawn. Both yelled cries "For the emperor!"

Fools, the lot of them! If they had split up, used stealth, they'd have a better chance… He cast a disparaging glance at the aged man, reluctant to admit that despite his advanced years- had managed to take down a few of these assassins on his own. Yet, for all his power, he was still a mortal man. Perhaps his gods had decided to look the other way today.

"I can go no further." The emperor said softly, touching the ornate medallion at his throat. "You alone must stand against the Prince of Destruction and his mortal servants-"

"Whoa…now wait a minute-" Dalvyn started to say. To this the man reached out, and gripped his forearm like a vice. Anger drifted across his face, grim determination followed.

"_He must not_ have the Amulet of Kings!" The man told him fiercely. He reached up, pulling the jeweled amulet into Dalvyn's hand. "Take the amulet…Take it to Jauffre. He alone knows to where to find my last son. Find him-" His grip tightened as if pressing his very will into his orders. "And close shut the jaws of Oblivion-"

Dalvyn was already shaking his head as he tried to give the amulet back to its owner. _Not me, you've got the wrong elf for this_- He was going to tell him, but just then he noticed a stone wall shift and move aside. From the darkness, another assassin emerged behind the emperor.

Time slowed, Dalvyn withdrew his blade. Too late, he watched three feet of steel rent through cloth and flesh. The tip forced out through chest and bone. The emperor was unsurprised, looking back at the prisoner who now bore his precious amulet. _He must not have the Amulet-!_ His words speaking of death seemed to come to pass after all. The shrouded figure, wearing the red robes and faceless mask continued to move forward.

"Stranger," A voice spoke behind the expressionless metal. "You chose a bad day to take up with the cause of the Septims."

Dalvyn barely had time to block the razor's edge swinging so close to his head. Engagement was swift, ending when Baurus charged in to help. Within a few short blows, the last of their enemies lay dead. His armor, blade, and mask dissipating in a puff of smoke.

"No…!" Baurus dropped to the floor, desperate to save his emperor. He checked the body for breath or pulse, found none. The emperor's death weighed heavily upon him. "No…no….Talos save us…" He shook his head, rubbing his face in disbelief. His voice faded into ramblings, trying to cope with failing his sovereign.

Dalvyn still grasped the amulet, seeing for the first time the jewel had a glow in its lipid depths. The gem filled his palm, with the magical stone inset in gold filigree. Despite its size, there was no weight, barely any substance. Other than its obvious worth in gold and possibly the gem, the Dunmer couldn't tell anything else of its importance, not by outward appearances. However, he could sense its significance…yet unable to explain how.

"The Amulet!" The guard snapped out of his grief, looking around the body. ""Where's the Amulet of Kings? It wasn't on the Emperor's body!"

"The emperor gave it to me." The prisoner said, taking a step back in case the guard decided to snatch it free.

The man stared in incredulity, gawking at the famed pendant. Only a moment did Baurus fume before seemingly relenting to some inner dialogue. "Strange.' He admitted finally, "He saw something in you. Trusted you."

Dalvyn almost laughed at the thought himself, but the old man's unquestionable trust and last words left an impression on the prisoner. Perhaps there was something more going on than he realized…? The guard's loyalty was admirable however, so he said and did nothing.

"They say its Dragon's Blood." The guard spoke slowly trying to make sense of things. "That flows through every Septim. They see more than lesser men. The Amulet of Kings is a sacred symbol of the Empire. Most people think of the Red Dragon Crown, but that's just jewelry."

He gazed now at the amulet, thoughts far away. "The Amulet has power. Only a true heir of the blood can wear it, they say."

_Power, eh?_ _Didn't seem to help him from having a sword run him through. _Dalvyn held the gem to the light, keeping thoughts to himself.

The guard frowned. "He must have given it to you for a reason. Did he say why?"

"I must take it to Jauffre…" Dalvyn told him. He considered asking this man to do this task instead, but so badly did he want out of the darkness and to his freedom he knew this guard was his key to the way out.

"Jauffre?" Baurus clearly recognized the name. "He said that? Why?"

"Something about another heir…"

The man blinked, taken aback. "Nothing I ever heard about. But Jauffre would be the one to know. He's the grandmaster of my Order." A soft smile touched his lips, softening the grief and hardness of the man. "Although you may not think so to meet him. He lives quietly as a monk at Weynon Priory, near the city of Chorral"

"Grandmaster, eh?" _Then he can take care of this business with the emperor's heir_. "How do I get there?"

Baurus pulled out a map, "First you need to out here. Through that door-" He pointed to they way the last assassin entered through the narrow shaft. "must be the entrance to the sewers, past the locked gate. That's where we were heading. Here," A key was handed to him, "You'll need this key for the last door."

"Sewers?" He almost forgot about that.

The Redguard nodded, "There are rats and goblins down there…but from what I've seen of you, I'm guessing you are an experienced assassin? Am I right?"

Dalvyn stiffened, considering his words. Assassin? Up to this point, he had known only that he'd been a murderer, but an assassin? Something about it made sense. Perhaps the murder he'd been charged with had been something to do with a profession…? He nodded an affirmative, still not sure. Something about the title seem too familiar to him…

The guard nodded, now smug. "I thought so. A few rats and goblins won't give you any trouble."

"After the sewers, then what?"

The smile faded quickly. "You must get that Amulet to Jauffre. Take no chances, but proceed to Weynon Priory immediately. Got it?"

_Then I get my freedom_….Dalvyn nodded.

_Note: I'm finding I don't like the chapters I write about that is all too plotted out from the game. My own creativity seems a bit reined in because of it, but its necessary to the storyline. Feedback would be MUCH appreciated!_


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Eiryn found the prison very similar to the one in the city of Vivec, with the same narrow stone walls and the occasional guard milling around. Walls were comprised of wet stone and rusted metal bars with the tiny cells having little room except for a bedroll on the floor. Windows were practically non-existent. Sunlight could not find its way into the depths of darkness here. In short, this was a dreary place.

She hated to think Saber spent the past month here. But it didn't matter, she assured herself. Eiryn only wanted to find Saber and bring him home. She didn't even wait to speak to the guards. Nekros remained to deal with that, as she raced down the narrow hallway to the cells that lined either side.

"Saber?" She called, her voice echoing against the stone. The hallway seemed to go on forever with cell after cell of prisoners.

"Eiryn?" A voice called back from the end.

Breath caught the sob that nearly escaped her. She hurried to find him, pleased to find the gates were already unlocked. "Saber!" Eiryn gasped, seeing him in the half darkness of the windowless prison. "Oh b'vek I was so worried!"

Saber was just as she remembered him, though dressed in the typical rags of any prisoner. Hair was disheveled, and grim marred his otherwise handsome features. Her face lit up, her vision blurring as she fought to contain the happy tears. She raced into his arms. _He's alive…He's alive and whole_, she thought. Eagerly her mouth found his, kissing him passionately. Within moments she sensed something amiss. His body was stiff against hers.

Drawing back Eiryn blinked when she saw his eyes glowed eerily in the black. Not the usual red hue of his race, but something more sinister. "Saber..?"

He smiled, baring teeth. Long fangs glinted back the torchlight. The roguish grin turned feral, as he moved forward-

"No!"…

Eiryn bolted upright in the bed, gasping in fear. She looked around the ship's cabin, centering on the here and now. The dream faded, unraveling like tattered fabric, leaving her empty. Would that be what she'd find in the prison? No, of course not, she chided herself. He can't become a vampire because he was immune to the blood disease. The dream's meaning, however, was clear. He may have grown into what Nekros was in the month that had passed.

The woman curled up amid the covers, sobbing quietly until the dawn.

Nekros heard the call from one of the ship's crew they had arrived to port. He barely slept knowing what the day would bring. Most of the night, he kept busy with poisoning arrow heads, dabbing just enough of deadly toxin to the number of silver tipped fletching. The task kept his mind off things, or he had hoped. Instead, he found the task was hardly enough distraction to the edginess that vexed him at every turn.

Thoughts had nagged him of his behavior with the Breton woman. The cursed ethics he'd developed since attempting to transform Saber made him tense, and unaccustomed to feeling guilt made him moody as well, more so than usual. Where once he'd easily brush aside concern for others, now the task was difficult if not impossible. What made matters worse was that this was Eiryn.

Eiryn… 

He had only caught a glimpse of her from afar all over the years. Upon first hearing of her, Nekros had been insanely jealous, perceiving her as a rival. From what he sensed in Saber, there was no hiding how much the Dunmer had adored the Breton woman. On one fateful occasion, Nekros decided to have her killed in order to push the Dunmer into despair, just enough so he'd willingly wish to be embraced. Even though he ended up using another woman made to _look_ like Eiryn, and killing her instead, at the time, Saber was none the wiser. He witnessed Saber's reaction to losing her. He had been utterly lost. Nekros could now see why. There was a wild, untamed spirit about her person. As warm as the sun, and just as bright, she had that unaware beauty. The woman was intoxicating.

Furthermore, he knew these feelings were not entirely his own. So close to the woman the night before, feeling her warmth, catching her scent, nearly undid him. She was suddenly very familiar to him, as if he could almost remember nights of passion with her, how she kissed, even the tender stroke of caress. These feelings could not possibly be from his black heart but of the missing Dunmer's.

Nekros had never been a man of tender caresses. He'd been alone most of his life, denying of himself the privilege of friendship. He never knew what love meant. The world was a place of people to distrust, of those wanting to take advantage of you first chance they got. No one got close.

However, from touching Saber's feelings, he knew what he was now missing. People had told him what it was like, this feeling of love, but the vampire had no concept to make it tangible. Now in light of current events, this sense of love was palpable and real. Just being so close to Eiryn emphasized this, and her presence was more than a bit distracting. Perhaps this is what he'd always wanted from the elf; the same devotion the woman had for the Neveravine.

The vampire had known for years the elf would not willingly come to him. Plans to embrace him is what kept the thoughts of revenge sweet as an aged wine. He'd spent years hunting him down, with all the intent of eventually bringing him over to vampirism whether he wanted to or not. He still couldn't accept he'd failed. What's more, he couldn't accept that Saber was still no longer his.

What surprised the vampire is his wanting Saber still, even after the elf had 'killed' him so many years ago. For all purposes, he should've ripped him apart, should've made him pay for slicing his throat. Instead, he found he missed him, craved his presence with him once again. For so many years, Saber had been everything to him; son, apprentice, and only companion…

Enough, Nekros stopped that thought, cleaning up the area to which he'd chosen to work. There was no point in wasting thought on that anymore. Saber had made his choice. _And that choice was not me._ Nekros often wondered why he didn't just kill him. Why let _her_ have him, if I can't? But he knew why; Saber was his weak spot, the chink in his otherwise impenetrable armor.

Rousing his servants, he remained abrupt with both of them. He reminded himself daily their relationship was one of convenience and that was all that it would ever be. Neither could begin to compare to the Nerevarine. The one, Frande, perhaps had considered something more. He'd often mention wanting to join his blood, to become a vampire. Though both had been worthless mercenaries to start with, feeding on them had proven enthralling to their weaker wills. Their wanting to join him wasn't unexpected. Nekros knew he'd never let them be anything but food to him.

Dressed in noble finery, Nekros stepped out onto the deck with his usual flair. Clothes were of pale blues and greens, satins and dyed suede. Armor was non existent. He had no use of such things being as powerful as he was. Only a hooded cloak guarded him from the light drizzle of rain that fell. Clouds obscured the sun, making the vampire feel a bit more at ease. Even knowing the magical rings that allowed him to walk during daylight couldn't shake a sense of dread every time he stepped out onto the day.

He adjusted the sword strapped to his hip, while looking for the Breton woman across the deck. Instead, he found the crew of the Spellsong busying themselves with mooring the ship at port.

"Your captain…" He spoke to the large Orc who continued to tie off a sail without looking up. "Where is she?"

"I believe she is still within her cabin." Came the gruff reply. The yellow gaze refused to look at him. "Perhaps you can check there-"

Nekros had a sense when people lied. It was in the subtle body language, a change in heart beat, and in this one, the inability to look one in the eye. He fumed in barely contained anger. "She's gone to the city hasn't she?" Of course she would go on without him. After the night before, Eiryn would most likely feel no obligation to the likes of him. Silently cursing his own temper, the vampire motioned to his servants they were to stay on board the ship. She'd be able to find the prison by herself by simply asking for directions. Damn her-

He began to stride in earnest to find her before she reached Saber.

To a Breton scout accustomed to the rural areas of Vvardenfell, the Imperial City was a place of impressive architecture and living history. Insurmountable walls guarded the city in one large circle, having the royal palace at its center. There, a soaring tower that reached to the very heavens, stretching towards the clouds in defiance of the pallid day. Gray stone comprised of most of the buildings, each like a sentinel at attention along the streets of cobblestone. Statues of ancient heroes and gods dotted through the various sections of the city, intermixed with gardens and shops.

_So this is where Saber grew up…_Eiryn remembered him telling her now and then of his past, of growing up in Cyrodil. It was this thought that prevented her from enjoying the city as much as she would on any other occasion. Saber needed her, and she took a risk by leaving Nekros behind. No doubt, he'd be furious. After last night, however, she wanted to avoid him. She kept to the task at hand, focusing on making her way to the Imperial prison.

The prison district, as she discovered, was located to the far northeast of the city, sitting just outside the main walls. A long bridge of stonework separated the prison from the city, placing this on its own island of sorts. Once past the first set of massive doors, the young Breton found herself staring up at another tall tower. This was one was similar to the main tower of the city but not as lofty.

The inner courtyard housed the guardsman and an armory, with huge gates to keep the prisoners safe within their confinement. Bracing herself, Eiryn entered the Bastille to find a large circular room with a man reading at a desk at its center. To either side, a short stairwell led to locked doors, and a third door, no doubt also locked, sat behind this jailor.

"Yes?" The elderly man spoke, seeing her arrival. He was an aged man, rough at the edges with a permanent look of suspicion etched in his face. He appeared bored, sifting through the paperwork of his station.

Swallowed against her suddenly dry throat, Eiryn ruffled courage. "I'm looking for a prisoner…" She told him, "He was brought in almost a month ago-"

"Name?" The jailor said, pulling out a pile of weathered parchment.

His name…. Surely, when brought here he'd be given a false name. He also wouldn't know his own identity… "He would be under an alias…" Eiryn shifted uneasily, wondering if perhaps she should've brought Nekros along. "A Dunmer from Morrowind-"

"What were his charges?" The man didn't even look up from his lists.

"I believe they were murder."

To this the man straightened, sitting back in his chair. Slowly he replaced his sheets, giving her a strange look. "Madam…murder is a crime that is justly punishable with execution."

"But I don't-"

"And if you say he was brought in a month ago-"

She shook her head. "No, you don't understand." Hadn't Nekros told her he was alive?

"I'm sorry madam. We never hold prisoners from execution." He seemed understanding to her dilemma. "With all the excitement of the Emperor's assassination, there's a _slight_ possibility of error, but honestly we have only one Dunmer in the prison now and he's not from Morrowind."

"Can...can I see him?" Eiryn began to feel the edges of desperation take hold. Doubt of Nekros' word also battled against common sense. Had he tricked her with some story of Saber only to get a free ride to Cyrodil? She felt stupid. Hadn't Saber told her on numerous occasion he was a liar and manipulator?

The man gave a soft sigh, soon followed by a reluctant nod. She followed the jailor down the short flight of steps, watched him undo the locks and step aside to let her pass. "I will have to stay with you of course."

Eiryn nodded, feeling her chest tighten at the darkness below. Only torchlight gave any light, with the empty sound of echoes against stone filled her senses. She tried to not seem rushed, tried to hide the shaking of her hands as she hurried below to see the prisoners.

Caged doors lined the narrow hallway, and the first cell housed the Dunmer in question. Immediately she knew this wasn't Saber. He had a shock of white hair, with an evil glint in his eyes as he caught sight of them

"Ah guests!" The man snickered, moving closer to the bars. "And such a pretty thing too-"

"Shut your mouth, Vareth." The jailor snapped. "Or I will shut it for you."

Vision blurred as tears threatened to spill. Eiryn shook her head, "That's not him-" She sucked in a shaky breath, muttering a quick thank you to the warden. "I'm sorry to have troubled you-"

"That's alright, it's really no trouble-." He seemed apologetic, but she was already turning to leave. Her feet simply couldn't take her quick enough out of this place, and as she burst through the doors into the drizzling rain and gray sky, she choked back a sob.

_Dead….he was dead_. She barely heard the guards call after her of their concern before she ran through the second set of doors. _What a fool I was to trust Nekros!_ _Saber is gone…_Just as she was midway across the stone bridge, a voice from someone approaching called to her. The ragged voice was too familiar.

"Eiryn!"

_Nekros!_ Grief and desperate sorrow soon transformed to blinding rage. She continued to head straight for him, and the tight expression on his face showed he was not happy she left without him. This only goaded her anger more. As he came in range, she flew at him. All the pent up fear, sorrow, and grief was unequivocally directed to the vampire who caused all this pain.

"You lied to me!" She shrieked, fists flying. He easily dodged the first blow before managing to grab her by the wrists, after that it was all he could do to contain her enough to protect himself. "You conniving, sniveling bastard! You led me all the way here only to find out he's dead!"

"Stop it!" He snarled back, forcibly shoving her away. This only served to give her time to vault a second attack. This time, he was prepared and each strike was easily blocked. "Listen to me-!"

"I wont listen to your lies, you bastard!" The woman was crying now, daring to withdraw her blade. Part of her knew she was taking a terrible risk to fight him, but she no longer cared. Too overwhelmed with grief marred her common sense. "I shouldn't have listened to you. You lie! You always lie. You only wanted to use me like you use everyone else!"

Nekros had no choice but to draw out his own defense. "Of course I used you," He spat back at her, matching her temper. "And you best reconsider taking me on-"

Eiryn gave him no chance to speak as she advanced. Part of her hoped to catch the upper hand in catching him off guard. The first thrust was powered with anger and pain she hadn't been able to express until now. The crossing of blades was quick and defined. He moved incredibly fast with such force that she stood no chance. Her sword went flying over the bridge's edge to the valley below. Now unarmed, she stared back at the deadly blade now pointed at her. Still angry and undeterred, she bolted to the end of the walkway to try to reach her sword lay on the ground below.

Nekros, however, simply stepped onto the edge to jump the distance below, thereby reaching the fallen blade before she could even reach it. From that height, a fall would've killed a human. From higher on the hill, she cursed him. Having no other choice, Eiryn felt a good retreat might be in order. She began to head towards the natural areas of the island, moving legs as fast as they could carry her.

A sudden blast of….something hit her from behind, knocking off her feet and sending her sprawling ahead. Her head barely missed a rock. The sudden wave of weariness told her he'd hit her with magick. Cursing her stupidity, she fumbled for a dagger at her belt. She'd not go without a fight!

"Dammit, woman!" A growling voice soon hovered above her. "I never said he was in the prison!"

She found her hand could barely keep a grip on the dagger, but she knew the weapon would be useless anyway. Eiryn was beaten. She lay staring up at Nekros, expected him to impale her without a thought. A last show of her temper could only be in the form of words. "You are a liar!"

Nekros kept the point of his blade close to her throat in order to keep her still. "Yes, that is what I do." He sneered. "But you knew that when you took me on board your lovely ship. Be that as it may, I didn't lie about Saber. He is alive."

"Stop it!" She snapped at him. "Just stop it! If you hadn't been such a heartless bastard, then Saber might have stayed with you, or at the least forgiven you! But no, you have to always play these games, toying with others just for amusement-" The point of the sword was pressed into soft flesh, prodding her back into silence. A trickle of blood dripped down her neck.

"_Not….another….word…."_ Nekros told her almost shaking in barely contained rage. Her words hit too close to the truth, and he'd known for years now that if he had raised Saber differently, he never would've lost the only thing in his life that was important to him. "I am many things, dear lady, as you said. I'm a liar, murderer, …monster…but I did _not_…lie about Saber." Eyes narrowed. "But this is neither here nor there. I came here to find his trail, to find where he'd gone."

She swallowed, hoping he'd not impale her. "They told me he's dead. He was executed."

"They are wrong." His gaze remained unwavering, his conviction clear.

The thought only then occurred to her that perhaps the vampire was holding back his own grief of losing the Dunmer. _Perhaps Nekros could no longer endure the thought of his death. He could very well be in denial._

The vampire backed off, letting her the space to get to her feet. The spell he'd used against her had faded, but she still felt weak as a baby. "We're done, if that is your choice." He continued to tell her, ignoring her glare as she wiped blood from the light nick he left on her throat. His gaze softened, but only briefly. "You should go back to Morrowind. Go home."

Back to Morrowind…to home? The idea galled her. What home was there without Saber? These past few weeks had been empty and void of everything that held any meaning to her. Everything reminded her of Saber, from waking up to an empty bed to sunrises watched alone. Her hopes had risen too high only to be dashed, and yet Nekros was still insistent that Saber was alive somewhere. "Saber is my home." Eiryn murmured,

The grief she felt was reflected back in amber eyes. "Then go back to your ship." he told her. "I'll find out what I can."

Eiryn stared back unsure to what she should decide. For all practical purposes, she should return to Morrowind and be done with this whole affair. _But he believes he's alive…_there was no mistaking that. _And if there is that slight chance, however small. I must know one way or the other._ Disgusted with her desperate need to find him alive, she relented.

"And Eiryn?" Nekros called to her as she headed back to the Waterfront. She turned to see him wiping the tip of his blade with bare fingers. Oddly, he stared at her blood on fingertips not even looking at her when he spoke again. "If you ever draw a blade against me again, I will kill you."

The words were a statement of fact, as certain as if the sun would rise the next day, or the grass was green. Nekros was not a man of idle threats to intimidate. He spoke plaintively, wanting to be sure she understand what she was up against. A shudder of fear ran down her spine. Unable to find any response, she turned and walked away.

_I don't know why exactly but this chapter seemed to take me forever to type out. I changed things several times before finally deciding on what you find here. From simply lacking any eloquence to being unable to type out a sentence there for a time, I finally got this out. Enjoy!_


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven:

_Fate_…the very word rankled Dalvyn's already simmering temper as he rode towards the city of Kvatch under an overcast sky. Never-ending drizzle persisted with drenching everything he owned, which wasn't much. A sword at his side, a bow he picked off a bandit with his quiver of steel arrows, and a handful of daggers he kept at the ready along a belt gave him a sense of defense in a world that bore him nothing to memory. The worn armor of leather provided little in the way of protection, but at least most of which was water-proof against this cursed rain.

Caught up in the affairs of kings seemed to mock him at every turn. Only having been free for a few days, he had the constant reminder that without his so-called help, the land of Tamriel would find ruin. It was of this Dunmer's opinion they had the wrong mer (elf) for the job.

Upon finding this Jauffre fellow, he'd been given the task of finding the lost heir to the throne of Tamriel. The emperor had asked this of him before his death, but for some reason Dalvyn assumed the Blades would take up the mantle of hero. Surely the Blades had better men, preferably ones with their memories intact, to do the job? Wouldn't any number of the Imperial guard be preferable to one escaped prisoner? Perhaps Jauffre, Grandmaster to the Blades, was better suited for this than an escaped prisoner.

Even now, as he tried once more to kick the stubborn horse to an unwilling gallop, he wondered why he agreed to do this. He supposed the main reason for accepted the job was to relax the crimes against him. Technically, he was an escaped prisoner, a murderer… but finding the emperor's lost son might allow for forgiveness to those crimes. He get on with his life, such as it was. Which also led him to thinking, he had nothing better to do.

Having been given a paltry excuse of weapons and armor, Dalvyn wasn't entirely surprised to find the horse given to him was of the same caliber. The brown and white mottled gelding was persistent with walking, too often refusing to run. Obviously more accustomed to the simpler life of monks, the beast took his time where ever he went. He would wander near the edge of the road to snag a quick snack of whatever was growing there, until Dalvyn forced him back onto the road.

"I bet you wouldn't even make a good stew." Dalvyn muttered to the horse. Ears flickered back at the sound of his voice, and a light snort was its only answer.

If confronted with a number of animals that had attacked, the animal broke into a jarring prance-like gallop. Ironically, the horse didn't seem to mind stopping for a few bandits to which Dalvyn lost his purse of coin. Outnumbered five to one were not good odds, so the dark elf opted to give up without a fight. He even offered the horse, to which they laughed.

"Fate," Dalvyn spat angrily. He tugged the cowl of his cloak to keep off the rain from his face. "This isn't fate, it's a curse!"

He regretted having lost at least the memory of the poor bastard he had killed. After having endured this horse, the days of travel, and now losing all his coin to bandits, he wanted to remember at least that if anything. The man must've been a saint, some goodly person who fed the poor and fought the wicked. The type of man, the Dunmer guessed, to which should be doing this quest. _Certainly not the likes of me._

The quest didn't sound too difficult. Find the emperor's heir, which they'd given him to a map straight to find him, and bring him back to the monks. Simple enough, the Dunmer thought to himself. "Even if I have to carry him." He told the horse. "The monks can take care of him and save the world."

Saving the world from what was the real question here. Jauffre mentioned something about the realm of Oblivion, a demonic world held at bay from the world of men by magical barriers. The grandmaster also mentioned how with the death of the emperor, along with his three sons, left no one to light the Dragonfires. The elf was unsure of this importance, but the tone was ominous, indicated trouble to come. Only a Septim of the 'dragon blood' had this gift with the use of that amulet for these Dragonfires. Dalvyn wondered if somehow this magic linked to the maintaining of the magical barriers. Time would tell, wouldn't it?

The horse nickered, making an odd jump in mid-canter. The unexpected movement nearly unbalanced Dalvyn, but he managed to squeeze legs hard enough to keep astride the animal. The beast sidled, shaking his head violently in an attempt to throw the reins.

"What the-" He scrambled for the straps, fighting the horse back under control. The eyes rolled in fear, and Dalvyn couldn't tell at first what spooked the animal. Just as the horse seemed to settle, a low rumble rolled across the darkening sky. "Now what?"

Westward, towards the city of Kvatch, Dalvyn saw the sky darkened more than the usual rain cloud. Another growl of thunder shook the sky following by a strange red hue bleeding into the gray. Dalvyn let the horse fidget, eyeing this with distrust. He looked back the way he came, considering perhaps finding the emperor's lost heir another day. Looking back to the direction that could none other than Kvatch, however, convinced him he had to press on.

Kicking heels in the horse's flanks, Dalvyn forced them to go forward, pressing on by keeping the horse at a intermediary gallop. The land here was rolling hillsides mottled with bush and tree. Rocks also interrupted the waves of land, making it impossible to look too far ahead unless you stood on a rise. Kvatch sat upon an oversized hill, and even at this modest distance, the rolling smoke that rose up to join the darkened sky indicated something very bad had happened to the city.

The road snaked upwards, where a huddling of tents gathered at the road leading out. Several people raced by him, wild eyed in fear and too hurried in their flight to speak. Dalvyn had to struggle to keep the horse from bucking, but its bulk and sidling in the road caused a yellow skinned elf to pause long enough to tell him what was going on.

"Come on!" The High Elf shouted at Dalvyn, "Run while there's still time!" The man was breathless, having already been running full tilt.

Looking northward, up the hill to the smoking pillar, Dalvyn scowled. "Run? Run from what?"

"God's blood!" The mer gasped out, catching his breath, "You don't know, do you? Daedra overran Kvatch last night!There were glowing portals outside the walls…Gates to Oblivion itself!" He shook his head, his face squinting against the memory. "There was this…huge creature, something out of a nightmare…came right over the walls…blasting fire. They swarmed around it, trying to kill it!"

Dalvyn could barely make out the broken walls of the city above. "The whole city can't be destroyed…"

The elf glared back at his doubt, yellow eyes sparked sudden fear and anger. "Go see for yourself! Kvatch is a smoking ruin!" He glanced over his shoulder to the camp behind him. Several shadows were running in desperate fear. "We're all that's left! Don't you understand? Everyone else is dead!"

Dead? The handful of tents was too few in light of what had once been a population of a city. Dalvyn felt a pang of trepidation, of failing in this 'simple' task of fetching the emperor's son. Another roll of thunder sounded too close, causing the Altmer to jump.

"I'm getting out of here before its too late! Run while you can!" The last words sqwaked over his shoulder as he ran to the main road.

This time Dalvyn let him go, pushing the horse onward. The animal would have none of it. Fighting once more at the bit, the Dunmer had no choice but to go in by foot. _Damn horse_, he glared as the animal bolted in the same direction as the High Elf took.

Passing through the camp, the elf trudged upward and onward to the city, finding a few stragglers still making a last run from the ruined city. By the time he neared the top, the cloud had darkened considerably, and he couldn't help but notice what must be the Gate the High Elf had spoken about.

Beyond a line of makeshift barricade of poles, a huge structure stood nearly fifty foot high, oval in shape with fire licking out in all direction. Flame and power surged in a frame of what appeared to be stone or strange metal, no doubt leading into the demonic realm of Oblivion. He could see nothing but the orange glow of magic, and barely the city's doors beyond that.

"Stand back civilian!" A guard shouted at him, his sword drawn. Dalvyn nearly withdrew his own blade on instinct but held back.

Dalvyn eyes the drawn weapon in expectation of trouble. "What happened here?"

The soldier's face darkened, "We lost the damned city! That's what happened!" The man snapped, directing frustration and alarm towards the Dunmer. "We were overwhelmed. Couldn't even get everyone out. There are still people trapped in there!"

The man's fear seemed to quarrel with this need to rescue people he was unable to reach. "Some made it into the chapel, but others were run down in the streets. The count and his men are still holed up in the castle."

Thunder shook the air, answered by the eerie sound coming from the Gate. Dalvyn frowned. "Do you know where Martin is?" He took a chance, perhaps a guard of the city might know who he was talking about.

"You mean the priest?" The soldier asked, the mouth was a fine line of grim determination. "Last I saw him, he was leading a group towards the chapel of Akatosh. If he's lucky, he's trapped in there with the rest of them, at least its safe for the moment. If he's not-"

_We're doomed,_ Dalvyn shook off his sense of foreboding looking once more at the infernal Gate before him. The structure blocked any way into the city. "And this Gate…"

"Its some sort of portal." The guardsman explained, "The enemy used them to attack the city. They appeared just outside the walls and Daedra poured out. They've opened one right in front of the city gates. Until that Gate is closed, the best I can do is try to hold these barricades."

"The gates needs to be shut, eh?" Dalvyn fingered the pommel of his sword. He gave the guard a cocky smirk, jerking his chin towards the problem. "I need to get into that city."

Eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Are you sure?" He shifted uneasily at the Dunmer's nod. "Well…it will likely mean your death. I don't know how to close the Gate, but it must be possible. The enemy closed the Gates during the initial attack." He pointed with his sword towards the left of the glowing portal, motioning to the remains of what were more Gates. "I've send men in to see if they can shut it. They haven't come back. If you could get in there, find out what happened to them. If they are still alive, help them finish the job. If not, see what you can do on your own."

"Sounds simple." He meant it to be sarcastic, but he saw the sudden pinch in the man's face. The Dunmer shrugged, still smiling as he drew out his sword. He wasn't sure why, but Dalvyn felt a growing sense of brash daring edge him forward. No doubt, the confidence was unfounded, but then again, he wasn't so sure. The few crossing of swords up to now were almost too easy. Bandits fell pretty easily, and he'd considered taking on the five that had taken his money earlier in the day. He wasn't sure to bet on skill this early in the game however. His body was remembering the use of a blade even if his mind did not. Letting thoughts go, he began to trust instinct. Instinct told him he could handle this.

"Let's go!" The guard yelled to his men onward towards the Gate to provide the help against the creatures already emerging. Crouched forms of pale brown took form into beasts with wide mouths of sharp teeth and clawed hands and feet. Though only about five feet, the creatures easily summoned balls of flame.

Dalvyn forged ahead.

Nekros knocked softly on the door where Eiryn had no doubt taken refuge, and received no answer. A movement of his hand, muttering of arcane words, and his vision shifted to detail life forms within. A faint glow outlined the woman had fallen asleep on the bed, reclined on the coverlets.

Gently undoing the lock, he edged inside to peer easily through the darkened room. Her heartbeat was slow, breathing easy, and the woman was deep asleep. For the first time in his life, Nekros felt doubt upon entering a woman's room. Never before had the concept bothered him, especially to feed, but then again, this was Eiryn…

She changed clothes from last he saw her, wearing a green oversized tunic with linen pants. Hair spilled over the blankets, undone to dry. Hands tucked beneath her chin, with expression serene in relaxation. By the lack of covers and position on the bed, head not even on the pillows, she had not intended to fall asleep. Exhaustion had taken its toll.

Nekros reached out, brushing ever so lightly a lock of hair back from her face. The warm feelings warred against the urge to feed, but since he fed just that morning, he ignored the need for blood. He took a moment to simply bask in these new emotions he never felt before. _Was this what Saber felt he lost when he watched me kill what appeared to be her? No wonder he was lost._

He tried to imagine what it would be like to wake every dawn, or sunset in his case, with this curled beside him. A smile caused his mouth to twitch. Dark thoughts began to nip along the edges of his mind. _I could charm her_, he mused, _I could_ make_ her enjoy my company._ He'd taken the last decade of his life focusing on magic and had come to realize the potential in mage-craft. Spells to control others as well those of illusion and alteration certainly came in handy with playing with humans. Charming a woman such as this was child's play.

His new conscious however brushed these urgings aside, reminding him that by doing so only left him a shell, not the actual woman. It was her spirit that he admired, and charming her would destroy that. Sighing to himself, he let the moment pass.

_She wouldn't want me here_, he knew. _She would, however, want to hear my news_. Opting to take a less intimidating position, he sat at the table, leaning back comfortably on a chair. He took a dagger from his belt, tapping the hilt against the wood loud enough to wake her.

Eyes popped open, the livid green unfocused, bleary and soon focused on him. They widened quickly, soon narrowed again. Sitting up, she yawned. "What did you find out?"

Surprised she wasn't angry he was in her room, the vampire decided to brush aside concern. "There was an escaped prisoner the day of the emperor's death." He announced, toying with the blade by flipping the delicate blade between fingers. The game was for reflexes, a game he taught Saber as a young boy. "A Dunmer."

Eiryn perked up, sleep forgotten. "Saber?"

"No doubt."

"And? What became of him?"

"The emperor was escaping thru a secret tunnel that led straight thru his cell." Nekros explained, "A fellow prisoner verifies that this prisoner had no memory of who he was or what he'd done. That being said, he was able to take the same route as our departed Emperor to make his escape, with his bodyguards-" He looked at her with a tilt of his head, "The Blades. After that, no one has seen or heard of him since."

Eiryn looked away in thought, considering his words. "He could be anywhere."

"Ah but there is news from afar," He continued, "tales of a new hero in our midst, that managed to close an Oblivion Gate outside of Kvatch."

The woman looked more amazed, sitting straighter at the news. "If the Gates can be closed-"

"There is a fighting chance against the Daedra." The vampire shrugged unconcerned, "Or so the rumors whisper among the peasants. The tale continues with the revelation of a lost heir to the Septim throne." The vampire snickered more to himself, "Very romantic, don't you think? Here the lands of Tamriel are torn asunder by assassination and Daedric attacks, and lo- a lost heir is suddenly discovered to save the day."

The Breton swung legs off the side of the bed, rubbing eyes clear of sleep. "But that doesn't explain where we go from here."

"The Blades…" Nekros balanced the dagger expertly upon a finger, keeping its balance with barely a glance. "You will need to find the Blades and ask them what they know."

"Me?"

"You are, after all, a Blade, are you not?"

Eiryn shoulders sagged a bit. "The Blades are secretive. Many guilds have no idea where the others are, or even what missions are there." She bit her lip in thought. "I suppose it wouldn't be too hard to let them know I'm looking for them."

"Its settled then…" Nekros got to his feet, brushing aside his cloak in a motion of flourish. "I will buy horses and supplies, to be at the ready." He headed for the door to take of his own tasks.

"Eldwin?" Eiryn called after him. He paused with his hand on the door. Looking back he saw her tense and unblinking.

"Don't enter my room again without knocking first."

He smiled, showing fangs. "I _had_ knocked." Nekros told her, with a wink. "You were asleep." With that he left her to consider his motives.

So much death, Brother Martin despaired, hands no longer together in futile prayer. Surely, the gods have forsaken us. Doubt and despondency seemed all he had left as the horrible scraping sounds clawed at the chapel doors. Those creatures were coming, and despite the city guards blockading them in the chapel, there was little hope of survival now. They were trapped.

A small group of citizens took refuge with him, each huddled in the darkness of the broken chapel. Their faces were covered with terror and loss, many having witness deaths of loved ones.

What sort of priest am I to not offer them hope, Martin thought to himself. He muttered a prayer he knew by rote, having no heart in his words. He hoped the attempt might provide solace to those around him.

The scraping stopped, as muffled sounds of shouting could be heard beyond the door. _There are more guards out there!_ Martin felt light headed with the inability to save them. _They will be cut down like the rest of them. Where are you, Akatosh? Where are the miracles of salvation?_

An awful silence followed, leaving them to sit amid the air thick with tension, and a woman next to him sobbed piteously. He touched her hand, forcing a smile to offer comfort. He hoped their deaths would be quick…

All jumped when loud thumps hit against the door.

"Open up!" A voice called to them. Hope flared anew. _They are alive!_

"We are saved!" An older man cried. The others were already getting to their feet.

The guards looked uncertain but dared to undo the bolts. The doors swung open to allow a handful of the city guards, including the Captain Matius to enter. Martin stole a quick glance at the smoking ruin that was once Kvatch. Amid the ash and ruin, bodies of the creatures strewn on the ground like broken toys.

"Civilians!" A guard barked at them, "Its time to move out."

Brother Martin cast one last glance back at the chapel, to the beds and half burned candles near the altar. The holy symbols held little meaning to him now-

He meant to follow the others, but found a shadow passed to block his exit. Surprised, he found a Dunmer looking at him with suspicion. Where did he come from? He must've come with the guards…

By the look of him, he appeared a mercenary, armed to the teeth. The elf donned light armor of leather with daggers along his waist, a sword slung on his back with a quiver poking over his left shoulder.

Although not as frightening as some foreign Dunmer he'd met, this one was still intimidating by his mere presence. The gray skin appeared darker in the dim light of the temple, contrasting with the livid red eyes the color of wine. His head was bald, with only the slightest hint of black hair beginning to grow.

Martin knew too few dark elves and wasn't sure what this one wanted with a simple priest of Akatosh.

"The emperor sent me to find you." The dark elf spoke, red eyes direct.

Martin frowned. "The emperor is dead." He said flatly, doubt of intention mounting, What would the emperor want with me anyway? "Who are you, and what do you really want with me?"

The elf remained aloof, "You're Martin, right? The priest?"

"You need a priest?" Brother Martin frowned, uncertain now. He looked out the open door to the destruction and fire. "I don't think I'd be much help to you. I'm having….trouble understanding the gods right now. If this is some divine plan, I'm not sure if I want to have anything to do with it."

The Dunmer followed his gaze and seemed to agree, "There is a plan…You're part of it."

The frustration of being unable to help, to unanswered prayers pushed aside his despair and left only anger. "I prayed to Akatosh all through that horrible night, but no help came, only more Daedra!" Memories of seeing the creatures run down the folks he had known all his years here brought tears to his eyes. "What can you possibly know that would help me make sense of this?"

"You are Uriel Septim's son." Came the cryptic reply.

Martin wasn't sure to laugh to run from this madman. "You think the emperor was my father? You have the wrong man. I am a priest of Akatosh. My father was a farmer-"

The Dark Elf folded arms taking a stern stance, "The Daedra came for _you_." Something in the tone, his manner, or basic instinct seem to quarrel with the priest's unwillingness to accept this. Truth he supposed or his need to deny the accusations.

"An entire city destroyed to get at me? Why?"

An arched brow rose up in silent meaning.

"Because I'm the emperor's son?"

"I have no reason to lie to you." The Dunmer replied. "I was with the emperor when he died." He paused briefly, looking at his face closely. "You have his eyes…He told me to come find you."

Martin felt his head shaking in denial even though something in his heart told him otherwise. "What does this mean? What do you want me to do?"

"Come with me to Weynon Priory."

Just as Martin was to respond with a heavy hearted no, Captain Matius approached with a wide grin, "Ah Brother Martin! You've met our hero!"

"Hero?" The priest echoed, finding this unassuming Dunmer not at all what one might expect of a hero.

"He closed the Oblivion Gate! He helped drive back the Daedra!"

Staring at the elf, Martin gaped. "_He_ shut an Oblivion Gate?" To his knowledge, no one knew had to do such a thing.

The elf said nothing, his face a mask of unresponsiveness as if he expected only his answer to his question.

"It was amazing!" Captian Matius continued with a grin, "The entire gate shut in upon itself, and he was all that was left. I still cant' believe it!"

Martin nodded slowly keeping his thoughts to himself. _I have little choice it would seem. If he speaks the truth, I must go_, "I will go with you to Weynon Priory."

"We best start now." The elf said turning without waiting for him. "It's a long walk."

Brother Martin gathered what little he had; a blanket, some food, a tinderbox- He paused as he noticed his books stacked beside the altar. Most were about faith and philosophy, of the Nine Divines, and of theology. A wave of doubt and disgust prevented him from taking them. He took the sack of items to take and followed the Dunmer out.


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

By late afternoon, Eiryn found herself walking along the streets of the Marketplace District. The weather broke just enough to stop the pour of rain, but left the blanket of gray to block the sun. Rainwater still pattered down the gutters along the street, washing away refuse, darkening the gray stone to near black in the faded light of day. She found her mood matched the change of weather, to one of budding hope upon what Nekros had told her. Her task was simple; Find the Blades and discover where Saber had gone to.

Finding a member of the Blades was no easy task. You couldn't find _them_, you had to leave cryptic notes or messages for them to find _you_. One of the easiest methods was to ask around for an Akivari katana blade. This alerted agents that one of their own was looking for them.

Often adventurers and sword collectors would ask about them, being the long blades were generally too expensive and rare for a commoner. The bodyguards of the Septim line, the elite Blades, often had such swords, however. This made for seeking the Akivari swords so perfect in alerting other guild members.

Eiryn couldn't shake the sense of being watched. Surely, the Blades would suspect her of any number of things before approaching, so she remained obvious as she strode through the city. They'd watch her habits before contacting her. Only briefly did she wonder if Nekros might have followed her.

_Nekros_…Just thinking about him caused a shiver to run down her spine. His unpredictability was unnerving to say the least. Finding him staring at her as she slept was even more so. She said nothing to him only because she didn't want to give him the satisfaction. The young Breton was torn between a sense of compassion, to the vampire's new found conscience, and her sense of survival to not trust a monster such as that. In addition, she needed him. Much as she hated to admit it, his connection to Saber and assurance that he was, in fact, alive, made him essential in this quest.

The connection also roused a sense of dread in her. Saber had grown temperamental over the years they'd been together. His temper flared on more than on occasion to which Eiryn wondered who he was anymore. How much of this was Nekros' effect upon him was unknown. How much more of him was altered now that he had no memory of who or what he was?

Relieved of the Nekros' presence for the time being, Eiryn tried to push aside her worries and focus to the task at hand. This gave her an excellent opportunity to roam through the Imperial City to take in the sights, re-provision the ship, and take in the culture. This time her worry had lessened with news Saber was alive somewhere in the land of Cyrodil. They only need find him, which shouldn't be too difficult a task, or so Eiryn hoped

As she strolled along the city streets, Eiryn noted that everywhere one went, one could see the White Gold Tower that rested in the center of the Imperial City. The great tower was built in the days of the ancient Ayleid, known as the Heartland High Elves. The very elves, some said, the Altmer descended from. She'd heard stories from traveling adventurers of this land was spotted with ruins from that race. Part of her was more than a bit intrigued with exploring this new world.

Having been born and raised within the providence of Vvardenfell, she was more familiar with the dry Ashlands or regions of Red Mountain than the city areas. As a scout, Eiryn was often as south along the coast of the Inner Sea, or to as far north towards Sherogarad. She even managed to visit the island of Solstheim once and explored the great city of Mournhold. From maps, Eiryn realized that Cyrodil was just as large as Vvardenfell, with just as much to explore. When this trouble is over…she promised herself, Saber and I will see those ruins.

While stopping to admire a large statue of some long dead hero, a body bumped against her. She noticed the Redguard too close, dressed in simple shirt and pants and wearing no weapons. He appeared as nothing more than a commoner; a farmer or sailor perhaps. A glance of soft brown eyes appeared non confrontational, his manner was subdued.

"Excuse me." He gave a slight bow, and walked away.

Her eyes caught the piece of paper he dropped at her feet. Picking up the parchment, the scrawl appeared hastily done. _"Meet me in the Waterfront at dusk. Come alone." _Without a name signed, or any indication if he might be a Blade.

"Blast…" She muttered. Saber had mentioned the Waterfront to her, how here one might find the dregs of humanity from beggars to thieves, to more questionable characters lying low from the law. Common sense warred against her need to find the elusive Blade members.

She remember to bring her sword, and a dagger hidden in her boot, with her ring of recall set to return her to the ship if trouble arose. The Blades, she guessed, had to be careful. With the emperor dead by assassination, trouble could come in guises. Either case, she had little choice but to do as the note said. In fact, she dared not even tell the others where she was going.

The Waterfront, she found, was comprised of the same fortress-like buildings of Imperial construction, mostly of warehouses to store goods. The buildings lined along the port like a defensive wall, having a poor mass of shacks for dockworkers and sailors beyond towards the shore of the harbor. A stone moor led to a island housing a modest lighthouse, leaving a spread of shipping vessels to dock.

Her own ship anchored not far, as well as two others. One of which she discovered was a floating inn and restaurant. The idea she found rather charming, until she read the wooden placard; _The Bloated Float. _Ugh! That didn't exactly make the place appealing. The name conjured up imaged of the Netch from Morrowind, large floating creatures with tentacles for attack and defense.

The note said nothing as to where exactly to meet the man. Perhaps she needed only to wander a bit. Sighing in growing frustration, she decided to explore the area further. Expressions passing her by were suspicious for any number of reasons, and she grew paranoid as time ticked slowly by.

As the sun touched the horizon, Eiryn grew more discouraged, finding the inhabitants more suspicious and her own unease rise up in defense. Was this a setup?

"Follow me…" The same voice of the Redguard came from behind as he walked past her, heading towards one of the run down homes. He entered without even looking back to see if she trailed behind.

Eiryn blew out another sigh, steadying her nerves.

Upon entered the abandoned hovel, she found herself in a single room 'home' with two bed rolls on the floor. Clutter and broken crates strewn across the floor. A modest fireplace provided some light and small warmth to the place. As she moved to shut the door behind her, two more men come in, pushing her back into the middle of the room. Immediately she reached for her sword, only to find the Redguard had pulled his own behind her.

The man didn't press further, simply motioned to the men to remove her weapons. His manner was defined, ordered. He was clearly the leader among them.

"I understand you're asking about Akaviri blades?" The Redguard asked patiently.

Eiryn seethed in barely controlled anger, as her hidden dagger was taken along with her long blade. "Yes I have been asking about blades. Since when was this reason to assault someone?"

The Redguard smiled gravely, making a small gesture to his men to back off. "Its difficult to decide who can be trusted." He told her, folding arms and taking a firm stance. "You're not even from Cyrodil-"

"I'm from Morrowind." She glared. "Balmora to be exact. That is, if you haven't discovered that already." Eiryn knew they must have asked around about her ship, about her, perhaps even her crew. "Anything else you need to know?"

The men gave each other odd looks, before the Redguard spoke again. "Why ask for Akavir blades if you already have one?" The man asked, using the Blade code of words.

Eiryn lifted her chin. "For service and honor." She retorted the proper response. Her glare shifted to the men standing to either side of her. "Now give me back my weapons."

They looked to their leader who gave a nod. "I'm sorry for the treatment, but we can't be too careful. Since the emperor's death, assassins have shown up just about everywhere."

"Its about the assassination that I needed to find you." She admitted. No point in playing ignorant, she thought. "I understand there was a Dunmer who was with him, an elf from the prison-?"

The Redguard tensed, eyes narrowed. "What about him?"

Hope flared, and Eiryn found it was all she could do to not show excitement upon hearing this man knew who she was talking about. "I need to find him."

"The Dunmer?"

"Yes."

"Why?'

Although Nekros' warning to keep things quiet of Saber's titles caused her to pause, she realized they were Blades in service to the new heir. They should know. "Because he's the Neveravine of Morrowind."

The Redguard barked out a laugh, shaking his head. His men shifted uneasily. "_The_ Neveravine? Are you serious?" He continued to chuckle in amusement. "Is this some sort of joke? You can't honestly think we'd believe that story…"

"He was stripped of his memory." She explained quickly, "He doesn't even know who he is…"

"The Dunmer I met was nothing more than a common criminal." The man told her with certainty. "A self serving bastard to be exact."

The young Breton paused, considering his words. Hadn't that been the very words she'd use to describe Nekros at one point? Her heart fluttered in excitement. The man had actually _seen_ him! "Eyes that were deep red, black hair?"

"He is bald."

Eiryn frowned, now doubting if this was one and same. No, it must be him. Nekros was sure of it. The thought also occurred to the Breton that within the Ashlander and more traditional Dunmer, hair was their pride and vanity. Women cut their hair in mourning, men would be shaved to humiliate. It was possible that Redoran bitch had shaved him to further insult or injure pride.

"Taller than most Dunmer?" She went on.

The Redguard shook his head, "I'm not convinced."

"I'm not here to convince you of anything. I just need to find him." Eiryn eyed the men beside her, wondering if they knew as well but only the dark skinned leader seemed to be the only one to know of the escaped prisoner.

"Well…" The man drawled, tapping a finger along his chin in thought. "Now that you mention it…the emperor seemed to have this trust him without telling us why. He said the elf was somehow destined or something."

"Well? Do you know where he is?"

The man eyed her a moment as if trying to decide her story was real. A light shrug, and he finally answered. "You just missed him two days ago." He continued at her crestfallen expression. "He'd come to the city to find a set of books, something about finding the Mythic Cult responsible for the assassination. I'm not sure where he went after that, likely the Cloud Temple."

"Cloud Temple?" Eiryn had heard of this place, found in the snow covered north lands. Every Blade had heard of the traditional base of their order. It was a strategic spot to house the heir, no doubt. "Thank you." Eiryn moved to leave.

"He wasn't eager on helping you know." The man continued, still unbelieving who the escaped prisoner was. "The Dark Elf I know is a convicted murderer, not likely to be trusted. I can't imagine this was the same mer that saved Morrowind."

To this the young Breton pondered a moment on his words, considering how Nekros' influence was taking hold. Her mouth tightened. "He was never eager to help, but he does the right thing in the end."

"I hope for all our sakes this is true." The man's expression turned grim.

"Me too…"

Eiryn was heading back to the ship to tell the others the news. They had a right to know now that Saber was in fact alive, and why they had come all this way. Night had fallen and this area of the city if it could be called part of the city, was without street lights. The darkness was unnerving to one grown accustomed to a comfortable light, but she found the darkness helped with heightening senses. Passing the broken shacks, her growing unease caused her to look up. A dark shadow stood against a starlit sky, relaxing his crouched stance upon her noticing him.

"You're following me now?" She glared at Nekros.

The vampire easily jumped down without a sound next to her. He lifted hands in a sign that he had no weapons. She knew better than to even trust that. He shrugged. "Old habits."

"And why would you follow me, I wonder." Her tone remained droll. She began walking again, confident he'd follow. "After all, I'm doing as you've said; to find the Blades."

The sound of boots behind her told her he strode not three feet behind. "I have a certain…vested...interest in your well being."

Stopping in her tracks and turned to gape. "What? My _well being_? This is coming from the one who nearly killed me twice! Are you telling me you'll be my protector now?"

"Oh don't be so dramatic, Eiryn." He walked past her, in no doubt she'd follow him this time. He spoke over his shoulder as he strode away. "I didn't leave a mark on you. And my interest in you is to keep you alive and well for our dear Nerevarine's sake. That was foolish you know." He cast a sidelong glance her way as she caught up. "Meeting a stranger in a questionable part of town? Really Eiryn, I thought you had more common sense than that."

"Its none of your business-" She muttered.

"Oh but it is my business if I need the information you're supposed to be retrieving." The vampire grew serious, pausing in his walk to turn and face her. _"You_ are my business until we find Saber. Thereby, this means everything you do is my business."

She gaped. "Are you insane?"

A smile flashed sharp teeth. "Some would say so, yes. But that changes nothing of what I've just told you. Until we find our Lord Nerevar, I'm afraid you have to tolerate my presence a bit longer."

Fighting the urge to draw her sword, Eiryn knew better than to try to kill him. He was too fast, too strong, and she recognized she was outmatched in skill. Fuming, she strode with purpose back to her ship. "Then we go to Bruma."

"Bruma?" Nekros remained dogging her steps.

"That's where they tool the emperor's her, and apparently Saber is in service to him." The young scout eyed the sky above for the drifting clouds obscuring Nirn's twin moons. The shape and form hinted at better weather, and with a degree of spite, she wanted some bright sunlight to make travel all the more harder on her vampire companion. "We should get an early start."

Nekros made a soft grunt sound. "Fine with me."

Note: So the story moves along. The past is reaching the present, and things will move a bit faster very soon.


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

"_When thou enterest into Oblivion, Oblivion enterest thee." _Brother Martin was profoundly reminded of this old saying while traveling with his new self-proclaimed guard. Dalvyn, as he called himself, had little to say as they headed to Weynon Priory. Whenever he did speak, the responses were clipped and abrupt, answering with little as possible.

Martin considered the elf may have seen too much in the realm of Oblivion, that he was distracted by what he had seen. Few could explain what they experienced beyond the Oblivion gates, and fewer still remained untouched by the experience. Descriptions were few to find, eluding to many different realms and planes of existence. Even with his own limited knowledge Martin knew what lay beyond was difficult to imagine.

The elf would tell him nothing of himself or his origins, and simply refused to acknowledge his presence outside the fact they traveled along the Gold Road. He wouldn't even answer the most basic of questions such as what his craft was, whether he had family, or was he a member of one of the guilds. Dalvyn simply stated he had promised Brother Jauffre to bring him posthaste to the Priory, and said nothing more.

Left in this unnerving silence, the priest was left to ponder his own destiny, and the words Dalvyn had spoken to him. Walking a horse length behind, he thought back on the horrible night of the Daedric attack, knowing now that the attack was to find _him_. All of this was simply difficult to understand.

_To be emperor….It all seemed impossible,_ and yet Martin sensed the truth of his situation. He couldn't explain how he knew, only that somewhere deep inside him, he understood the Dunmer had spoken the truth. Despite the humble upbringing, he knew in his blood where his true heritage lay. _And this must mean they will have me save Tamriel. May the gods preserve us_, Martin thought to himself. _Until this morning, I was a simple priest…one that found his own faith frayed and tattered after that horrible night. Now I'm to rule Tamriel?_

So deep in his own thoughts, he nearly bumped into the Dunmer guiding him. In just seconds, he managed to catch himself before he practically walked upon his guide's heels. For some reason, Dalvyn stood staring over the landscape as they neared the city of Skingrad, the deep wine gaze flickering over the horizon to where the high walls of the city stood.

"What is it?" Martin asked, suddenly very aware of every sound and motion around him. Nothing seemed amiss. He wasn't quite sure what the elf was looking at. The hillsides rolled endlessly with crops of grapes scattered amid the stands of trees and bushes. The sound of bleating sheep wasn't far.

Dalvyn seemed to shake out of his thoughts, startled to find him standing so close to him. "What?"

Dalvyn wasn't sure what the priest just asked him. The sudden inexplicable sense of….something faded as quickly as it had begun leaving only an odd sense of distortion. Almost dizzy with perplexity, the elf tried shaking off a sense of having been in this area before. The strange thing was, he'd only traveled through the area a few days before on his way to Kvatch. Even then, he had an uncanny sense of having known this place before.

The land near Skingrad was composed of hillsides dotted with bush, tree, and fragrant flowers of every color. The rich soil made for excellent crops, creating a patchwork of wine and tomato fields outside the city. Some of the vintages were in high demand all across Cyrodil and its providences. The air was practically thick with the scent of fruit. Wine and cheese were major exports, and Dalvyn couldn't shake the sense he knew something about the wineries in the area-.

"What is it?" The priest asked again, eyeing the edges of the road thick with bushes and rocks. His obvious concern for assassins was clear.

Dalvyn felt suddenly very foolish, not wishing to discuss the loss of awareness or his own confusion. He felt his face settle back into a frown. "Its nothing." He brushed it aside, taking the lead once again. With luck, the priest would let it drop.

"You seem troubled." The voice followed him, gentle and yet prodding at the same time. "I must admit, I'm a bit overwhelmed at the moment with all that has happened, but if you need someone to talk to about your troubles…"

The words faded in silent offering, and Dalvyn could sense the sincerity of the man. His current state of memory loss made things difficult to trust anyone. Nevertheless, he supposed the priest deserved some explanation.

"I've lost all memory of who and what I was." He muttered quickly, bracing for the inevitable questioning after. A quick glance at the priest showed no judgment, but instead patient sympathy.

Brother Martin had an unassuming appearance. Not at all what one might expect from the heir of the emperor. He still wore the frayed robes of his order, and sandals on his feet. Hair in dire need of a trim fell to shoulders framing a face that was decades younger than the emperor. Nonetheless, he held the same bearing, the same shape of the eye and nose. Dalvyn only now recognized that inexplicably this man was of the 'dragonblood'.

He also gazed back with livid blue eyes, the very same of emperor Septim. "You have no idea who you were?" The question was neither demanding nor accusing.

Dalvyn wasn't sure if telling him about his being in prison was a good idea, but there were always rumors. Already, he'd overheard conversation of local people talking about the emperor's death and knowledge of his escape. Fortunately, no one seemed intent on finding the elusive prisoner. "I woke a week ago, with no idea who I was."

Brother Martin however was to be emperor. Dalvyn hoped after saving his life, and securing him with the monks would give him amnesty. He would tell him then, perhaps. Until then, there was no reason to explain the causes.

"Knowing this," The priest spoke slowly, considering his words. "Carrying such troubles and still saving everyone in Kvatch, I admire you all the more."

"I didn't save everyone." Dalvyn pointed out, all the more uncomfortable with the priest's unfounded respect. _Would he still think so knowing I murdered a man? _He somehow doubted it. "And I didn't have much choice."

"Of course you have a choice. You didn't have to enter the gate, you could've run like the others and escaped. Even now," Martin smiled gently, "You could still walk away from all this."

Yes, he supposed he could. Martin wasn't exactly without his own skill with defending himself. He carried a short sword, and had explained he knew something about the blade. But then…Dalvyn felt a begrudging need to follow this through without knowing exactly why. Is this then what was known as Fate?

"I have nothing better to do." Dalvyn shrugged, walking towards the city once again. "We should stay in Skingrad for the night, and head out early tomorrow."

Martin allowed for the abrupt change of topic and proceeded to follow him. Skingrad was known for small valley of road bisecting the two sides of the city. To one end, a traveler would find the chapel and various homes of common and nobles alike. To the other side, housed the guilds and markets for trade houses. They would purchase some supplies, perhaps horses with any luck.

The sun was touching the horizon, throwing orange and pink hues to the clouds above. As they passed through the gates, Martin continued to follow without further conversation; Martin had come to Skingrad on a few occasions and knew his way around the streets. As they neared The West Weald Inn, he found the elf pausing at the door, having the same haunted stare at the wooden placard as he had before looking across the hillsides.

The West Weald Inn was one of the finer establishments in the city, with the telltale symbol of a crescent moon surrounded by three stars near the words carved into the sign. All inns used the same symbols for those who couldn't read. Why Dalvyn chose to stare at this could only mean he felt he knew he'd seen this before.

"The Moon and star…." The words were barely audible. Dalvyn blinked, glancing back at the priest who thankfully remained unquestioning. It was refreshing to not have to explain oneself at every turn. "We'll get supplies in the morning."

"You have nightmares." Brother Martin commented as they again took the to the road the next morning. "I heard you last night as you slept."

They decided against horses, having little coin to purchase and few choices in mounts anyway. Dalvyn shot him a dark look, accusing him of spying. The priest lifted hands in a gesture of goodwill. "I only mention this, because dreams can tell you a great deal of the soul. Perhaps the visions are your past life?"

The elf grunted in doubt. "Unless I have several lives.".

"What do you mean?"

Dalvyn sighed, "Because none of the dreams make any sense. I've seen golden elves, and was lord and master of many, possibly a military leader of some sort. In another dream, I lived in some dark place, feeding on others…"

"Vampire?" Offered Martin, noticing they traveled by day so that dream couldn't possibly be of any consequence.

The elf shrugged, "I've dreamt of a place of ash and smoke, then the same lands suddenly green and fertile." He shook his head again, confused in trying to explain. "Some feel as though they are memories…but I can't tell. Perhaps its just noise."

He rubbed his head that had begun to grow hair, the color black as ink. Unfortunately it itched, even more so when he sweated, so he considered keeping his head bald. The downside was the upkeep. Resorting to doing nothing, the stubble served to annoy him.

"Do you dream of people too?"

"People I that I know?"

Martin nodded, trying to help decipher the meaning.

Dalvyn thought, his face suddenly softening as one dream in particular often returned to him. He felt they were more vision than dream, flashes of sound, images that mingled one into another. "There is a woman…"

"Oh?"

The elf smiled this time, the first Martin recalled seeing on his face. "She has marvelous green eyes. Long hair…smile that shines through any darkness."

"She sounds lovely."

The elf realized only then that even just this memory of dreaming of this green-eyed woman somehow made him feel safe. "She never speaks though." He explained, remembering only faded memories of the dreams he had with her. A soft caress along his cheek, a simple brush of lips against his own, these left a profound impact on his emotion. "I always ask her if she knows me, and then I wake up." He stiffened back into reality. "Such women do not really exist." What he wouldn't say out loud was what sort of woman would be with such a man as he? And if he had known her in his past life, why wasn't he with her now? Was she dead, perhaps even by his hands? Did the woman know of his crime, and thereby casting him out of her heart?

And I may never know….Dalvyn felt his thought darken once more. "What say you, priest?" He challenged Martin. "Find any meaning in my dreams?"

Of course he wouldn't, which by the apologetic smile and softened gaze indicated. "I am sorry my friend. Perhaps you need to dream more in order to find your answers."

The Dunmer gave a brief nod as he strode a few feet ahead to end the conversation. "More likely I will only find more questions." He mumbled, falling back into silence.

Jauffre knelt before the small altar of the chapel to whisper his morning prayers. The day proved to be rather oppressive with a chilled drizzle of rain, and a growing wind promised an approaching storm. Edgy and unsettled, the priest gave his usual prayers, adding a silent plea for his ease of mind. Even with sincerity in his heart, Jauffre knew he wouldn't feel better until Dalvyn returned.

The Dunmer's appearance days preceding had caused a voice of protest amid the priests at the Priory. He wasn't what one expected in a hero, let alone his words of the emperor before he died. He said little of his origins, even less of how he came to be with the Septim at the hour of his death. Word had it; the emperor had been assassinated beneath the city in an attempt of escaping. The only known route was through the prison. This meant only one thing; Dalvyn Sarethi was a criminal. Why entrust this outlaw with such an important task as to find his heir? The other priests agreed, having dealt with the elf enough to know he was rude, aloof, and all-together rough at the edges. Why had he been chosen for this all-important task?

Having kept the secret of the emperor's illegitimate son for so many years, Jauffre found hope against the Oblivion crisis. More importantly, the priests of Weynon Priory felt strengthened with a sole mission. They were to protect this heir, and bring him to his throne.

As the priest pondered further on his own misgivings, a sound caught his attention. Someone was calling for help. Help-? Grabbing for his Akaviri blade, Jauffre heard the door of the chapel open. Two shrouded intruders entered, each armed and moving forward with purpose.

"The gods preserve us…" Jauffre whispered, uncertain if anyone had heard. They had come for the Amulet of Kings!

Note: I had encountered a computer crash and lost a chapter of the story. I had to rewrite this, and had edited, then re-edited a number of times. Sorry for the delay. It's a bit shorter than other chapters I've done, but I hope the quality is just as good. )


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Pulling her cloak closer against her body, Eiryn regretted not having bought a pair of gloves before they left the Imperial City. Fingers were like ice, almost numb from the cold. As they drew closer to the city of Bruma, the landscape had shifted from green hills scattered with flowers, into a snowy white and gray that left the breath hanging in puffs of white.

The day was clear with its biting wintry chill. Wisps of clouds drifted overhead in a blindingly blue sky. Her eyes squinted against the daylight, catching what could only be their destination set along the ridge of mountains. The directions of the temple were straightforward. Travel northward, where the road led upwards to the doors of the Temple.

Sir Eldwin rode ahead on his own mount, shrouded with a hooded cloak and rich garments of velvet threaded in gold and silver. The role of noble was further enhanced with his two retainers also wearing matching gold threaded garments and cloaks. Each also carried several bags of supplies, weapons, and goods that made their trip comfortable. They followed behind, ever dutifully.

The trip had taken nearly two days, and was further strained with the constant guarded tension Eiryn had for not only Nekros but his men as well. They were obviously loyal only to him, doggedly following his every order. Somehow she sensed they were hoping to be changed into one of his kind, or perhaps their greed made them so dedicated. For all his reputation for brutality, Nekros seemed almost gallant with these men, treating them simply as servants and nothing less. He tended to be generous, slipping a coin here and there. More importantly, whatever methods the vampire used, he had in his employ two fiercely loyal servants.

_Nekros plays the role of noble almost too well_, Eiryn thought to herself. Saber had told her he had no idea to the man's origins, where Nekros came from or his past. The vampire had a level of anonymity he cultivated usually by killing any who know of his existence. His days of murder seemingly left in the past, but during that time, his reputation cloaked his identify in fear and shadow. No one knew him. No one wanted to know him. In addition to having no idea of his true self, no living person could describe him. No one who saw his face was left alive. Only bodies were left behind.

By his courtly manners, Eiryn guessed he might have been noble by birth. At dinner, his table manners were as refined as his taste for finer things. In fact, being he was a vampire, his being able to eat and drink surprised her. She had assumed vampires fed on only blood.

He flashed a wink at her staring at him the night before during their stay at an inn, "Vampires of Cyrodil can easily live among the living." He explained how the vampires of Morrowind were different in that they broke up into clans. Each clans had strengths and weaknesses, but Cyrodil had only one clan, and their abilities included that feeding would allow them semblance of being human. Morrowind vampires always appeared as the blood drinkers that they were. But it wasn't even the fact he could eat and drink with her, but the subtle way he would hold his knife and fork, or hold his glass when he sipped its contents.

Saber taught her to take note of such things, in a method to learn table etiquette depended on where one ate. It was acceptable to eat with one's hands with peasants or the Ashlander tribes, but the Great Houses demanded a higher level of conduct. Eiryn also learned that nobles followed different rules than merchants may use, such as laying the knife across the plate and always holding a glass by the stem and not the cup.

She also found Nekros tended to take the first sip of his wine, letting the flavor roll on his tongue and taking a light whiff of its bouquet before enjoying the remains in his glass. Only nobility were known to use these methods.

The man was an enigma to be sure.

As they began the uphill route to the temple, she saw Nekros rein his horse to a standstill. He turned back, looking from whence they came. Features twisted slightly in a frown. His gaze shifted slightly to scan the horizon.

"What is it?" Eiryn asked him, trying to see what he was looking at. She found only the same way they came; a snow covered terrain of rock and snow.

Nekros drew in a weary sigh. "I don't know….something….I thought I felt him."

Saber? Her eyes squinted to see if she could see anything. More likely he was sensing the bond. But wouldn't the elf be forward, not behind them? Only now the thought occurred to her that he might not be at the temple.

"Its not close." He murmured, more to himself than to anyone else. Snapping out of his thoughts, he urged the horse towards the temple once more. "Let's go. We'll find out more at the temple."

"And if he's not there?" She asked, trying to stay riding beside him.

He wouldn't look at her, still troubled. "Then we'll look elsewhere."

Oddly Eiryn found his conviction upon finding the lost Nerevarine reassuring amid her own confusion. Falling back into silence, she dropped to follow him up the hill.

"Eronor," A voice called. The Dark Elf looked up from his task of raking the old straw in the sheepfold. Two of the beasts wandered close to him in the hopes for some tidbit he might hand them, while the others watched him work from across the paddock. He found Brother Maborel standing to the other side of the gated fence. "Are you almost finished?"

The Dunmer grimaced, sensing another chore was soon to be added to his already long list of things to do around the Priory. Why did it seem Brother Maborel be the one to tack on more work? The other priests were more than happy to do their own chores and any other work that might need doing. Didn't this man have anything better to do than read his books and pray in the chapel?

"Yes," The elf replied cautiously.

The Imperial smiled in a way too condescending for Eronor's tastes. His dark brown eyes always remained stern and aloof, and the pale complexion of his skin showed the lack of hours he spent outside tending to the gardens or flock of sheep. _No, that's my job_. The Dunmer contained his scowl when the priest gestured to his horse.

"If you could fetch some water for him…?"

Eronor pursed lips, seeing that the horse still wore its saddle. No doubt, he was to remove the tack as well. He was about to object, when he noticed the priest had noticed two travelers approaching from the north. Garbed in simple clothes, they appeared they were likely pilgrims and wished to pray at the chapel. Brother Prior tended to take upon himself to greet newcomers; he all but forgot his orders to Eronor and turned to speak to them. Eronor took the opportunity to back into the enclosure and hoped the priest would forget he was there.

He barely could make out the welcome the priest gave, and the low voices of the visitors. They seem to inquire about something, followed by the terse denial. Now curious, Eronor couldn't help but peek around the corner to see what they wanted. The men no longer appeared friendly, as their words grew hard and demanding. Before the Prior could speak, both men suddenly faded and appeared to be dressed in red, black, with robes of bright crimson, and armor black as pitch.

Stunned by what he was seeing, the shepherd gaped when weapons formed in their hands. The Dunmer had been known to adventure in his younger years, and recognized summoned armor and weapons. Magic users? Time seemed to slow as a long sword was thrust at the priest. Brother Maborel had no time but to lift hands against his attacker. His mouth gaped in a silent cry for help, but nothing but a wheeze of air escaped him. A final thrust of the blade buried deep into his midsection, dropping the priest to the ground.

Eronor was in shock. _They…killed him_! He gasped, only to find the two men now staring at _him_. Panic flooded through him. First instinct was to take up a weapon in defense, but all he had was the wooden rake. The tool was hardly adequate against two long swords.

Afar he heard Brother Piner raise an alarm, also calling for help. How many attackers were there? Now understanding they were outnumbered, Eronor decided to get help, and headed towards the closest settlement. Perhaps he could make it far enough so the city's guards would hear his cry for aid.

"Get him!" A shout followed him at his heels, serving to spur him to run faster.

"Help!" Eronor shouted, praying and hoping someone would hear him. The footsteps behind him were coming too close, and suddenly a loud thud put an end of the pursuit. He looked up the road finding two men coming around a bend in the rod towards him. Neither wore red robes, nevertheless he could tell they must be warriors. As he drew closer, he realized one was that fellow Dalvyn, from the time before. He'd come to bring the Amulet of Kings.

_We are saved!_

Eronor realized Dalvyn had shot with marksman accuracy straight into the attacker's face. The other, an Imperial, donned a tattered blue robe, and had drawn out a sword.

"Help! You must help!" He gasped out his plea. "They are killing everyone at Weynon Priory!"

The elf scowled, looking back to whence he came. "Hold on, tell me what happened."

Eronor knew they had little time. "I don't know! They're right behind me! Prior Maborel is dead!"

"Who's attacking?" Dalvyn demanded.

Gulping air, the shepherd forced himself to calm. "I was in the sheepfold when they attacked. I hear the Prior talking to someone. I looked around the corner to see who it was. They looked like travelers, ordinary. Suddenly weapons appeared in their hands and they cut the Prior down before he could move! They saw me watching them and I ran."

"Where's Jauffre?" The elf demanded, knocking another arrow to his bow. The cold spark in the red gaze matched the grim set to his jaw. He was a fighter, perhaps a mercenary. Eronor could care less as long as he helped them.

Jauffre? The thought of the kind priest possibly dead was almost too much to bear. "I don't know, in the chapel praying I think. You must help us!"

"Run to Chorral. Go!" Was all the clipped response was, Dalvyn lifted the bow and released another arrow to another attacker running towards them. The arrow buried in the man's chest, the force strong enough to push the approaching form off his feet. He didn't move upon landing on the ground.

Dalvyn wasted no time in racing to the chapel. Only for a moment, he wondered if he should've told Martin to go to Choral with the shepherd, for his own safety but the assassins could be anywhere. Best he remain close. Breaking into a run, he soon found Brother Priner, another priest, perhaps the youngest, racing up to great him.

Dalvyn couldn't say he liked religion in any form, not having to face fate, as one would call it. The gods seem to be using as like some game piece on a board, and he doubted any amount of prayer would help him now. No amount of spiritual enlightenment seemed to helping these priests now.

"God's blood!" The young cleric swore in gasping breath, eyes were wide in fright. He gripped a bloodied sword which contrasted with his robe and shorn hair. Many priests of Talos were Blades members, knowing how to fight as much as pray. "They came out of nowhere! Have you seen Grandmaster Jauffre?"

"Eronor said he was in the chapel." Dalvyn told him, moving past to head to the stone building. He didn't have to look back to know both Martin and Piner followed close at his heels. Before his charged in, however, he gave a warning glare to the heir of Tamriel. "You stay to the side of the chapel. Stay low. Any trouble, then you come in, got it?"

The priest of Akatosh visibly stiffened, obviously wanting to help those within. Whatever trust he had in Dalvyn however won out, and he gave a curt nod of understanding.

The chapel was an unassuming house of Talos, built of stone and mortar with its only ornament being the stained glass windows. The tower rose high above the other stone buildings that made up the priory, but everything matched the gray stonework and style in architecture. Within, one would find benches lined along the single room with a modest altar and two low tables set to the back. Bottles of wine for libation, and foodstuffs were laid out in offerings.

More importantly, Dalvyn found three assassins trying to get the upper hand of the grandmaster of the Blades. Brother Jauffre sprang lightly between his attackers, swinging a long blade only just in time to keep the mace and steel from cutting him down. Like the other priests, hair was cut in typical tonsure with a crown on hair on an otherwise bald head. Dalvyn just about fit in except for the thin line of hair the others had.

Springing over a low bench, Dalvyn caught one attacker completely off guard. His sword gutting him before he knew would hit him. The summoned black and red armor dissipated into smoke, and the man had just enough time to see the face of his killer before he died.

Already, Brother Piner was on the defense, with the hooded men turning their attentions towards their timely arrival. The fight was hardly that at this point, being the numbers between the two sides were even. Even in confined quarters and having had the advantage of surprise, the two strangers had little hope of surviving. Blades clashed in chimed chorus.

Dalvyn hit a man between the shoulder blades, feeling steel resist against steel. It was distracting enough for Brother Piner's sword to slip through defenses. The man grunted, then laughed. "I do not fear death!" His tone was almost cheerful, almost mocking. The helm disappeared in a puff of smoke as did weapons and the rest of his armor magic faded. Eyes closed and the mouth maintained the odd look of happiness. "I go to Paradise!"

Scowling at the odd behavior, Dalvyn found Jauffre at his side.

"You're back! Thank Talos!" He clapped a friendly hand upon the younger priest's shoulder in brotherly love. "They attacked without warning. I was praying in the chapel when I heard Prior Maborel shout. I had just time to arm myself."

His expression turned grave, "The Amulet of Kings! I fear that was the target of this attack. I kept it in a secret room in Weynon House."

Dalvyn turned to leave, suspecting where this secret room might be hid. He'd noticed a locked cabinet at the Priory upon his first arrival. Thieving was a means of life for him, being thrown into the world with nothing but what he could take. A sharp eye took note of possibly of goods later, but he never crossed that line.

Once outside, Dalvyn checked where he told Martin to be, and found the priest startled but alive. A quick jerk of his chin ordered him to stay with them. The group of men ran to the main house at the Priory, filing in to head straight to the upper level where the secret room was located. The cabinet doors were open, the lock broken. Inside, a chest had been smashed open, as if the intruders knew exactly where to look.

"They've taken it!" Jauffre cried out. "The Amulet of Kings is gone! The enemy has defeated us at every turn!"

Dalvyn eyed how ordered everything else was. "I found Martin. He is safe." Only then Brother Jauffre took note of the silent stare of the new arrival. Relief was evident.

A smile spread on the aged face, the expression bittersweet. "So its has not all gone against us. Thank Talos for that! We gained Uriel's heir, and lost the amulet of kings." Lines deepened, as he grew serious. "But Martin cannot stay here. We have driven them off, but they will be back once they learn of Martin's survival. Which they will."

Knowing the priory was hardly a place to guard against attackers, Dalvyn agreed. "But where?"

"Cloud Ruler Temple, I think." The grandmaster told him firmly. "The hidden fortress of the Blades, in the mountains near Bruma. A few men can hold it against an army. We should leave at once."

The 'we' obviously meaning he expected the Dunmer to go with them. Dalvyn wasn't so certain he wanted to go. After all, he'd done enough hadn't he? He risked life and limb and did more than anyone had even expected him to. A quick glance to Martin decided him, however. After seeing beyond the Oblivion gate he had no love to see Tamriel turn into such a wasteland.

As they readied to leave, Eronor returned blustering in anger but glad to see some had survived. "How dare they! The city guards said if we are attacked to run to the city. They cannot leave Choral undefended. The very idea!" He helped carry packs to the stables located behind he Priory. "The countess shall definitely hear of this!"

Dalvyn wasn't listening and upon seeing the choice of mounts and found himself staring. He stopped short upon finding a familiar horse standing beside the others. The mottled brown and white gelding blinked, shaking its head in growing agitation.

Jauffre noticed and seemed to smile. "He wandered into the paddock a day ago. We had thought perhaps you'd been killed."

Stifling a groan, Dalvyn gave a low growl of frustration instead. "This is going to be a long trip."

Note: And the plot unfolds…


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Throughout history, the Blades had been the 'eyes and ears of the emperor'. Eiryn had been raised knowing this. Her father, Caius Cosades, guild master in the lands of Morrowind had often spoken to her of duty and honor when she was old enough to join. She had served many years under his orders, knowing her service ultimately was to the service of Uriel Septim, emperor of Tamriel. Now as she was led into the great hall of Cloud Ruler Temple, surrounded by hundreds of Akivari blades hanging in honor of Blades who had given their life for their rules, the significance of her oath shook her to her core.

The emperor….

He wasn't at all how she imagined him. Martin Septim was wearing a frayed robe of deep blue, cinched at the waist with a leather belt. He wore no finery, no adornments. Even his hair was unkempt, his face only just showing a growth of beard at chin and lip. The blue eyes however were intent, and for all impression he gave, the emperor held a powerful sense of presence.

He looked up from a book he was reading, seeing their approach and a slight frown wrinkled his brow. "Yes?"

Brother Jauffre gave a slight bow, placing his fist over his heart in salute. "Sire, Eiryn Acques and Sir Eldwin Plallo of the Imperial City has requested your attendance." He gave a sidelong glance in their direction, "Something about Dalvyn, sir."

"Dalvyn?" Now his interest was piqued.

Eiryn had given the same salute, feeling awkward in her plain clothes dusted by travel. This was made worse by the fact she stood next to Sir Eldwin in all his finery. Even the way he moved, the confident stance he took as if he were accustomed with being around nobility all his life, made her feel all the more lowly. Moistening dry lips, she glanced at her traveling companion, unsure how to explain their purpose without sounding strange.

"Your…your majesty," She said, feeling her mouth gone dry. "I am Eiryn Acques, Blades Agent from the city of Balmora, in the providence of Vvardenfell…" Her words certainly seemed more impressive than they actually were. "This is…Sir Eldwin…" Her voice faded on the lie, unsure and not wanting to be part of his game of lies. Part of her wanted to add, "Known also as Nekros, master assassin of ill repute-" But didn't have the guts.

The vampire's guise of being human remained steadfast, giving for all appearances of a handsome man with combed hair and clear amber eyes. He gave a courteous bow. "Sir Eldwin of the Imperial City, your grace." His manner was self-assured, and carried all the ruse of his title. He got straight to the point. "Our purpose is to seek out a Dunmer from Morrowind, known here as Dalvyn Sarethi. We were told he came here in your service…"

Martin nodded slowly. "And what your purpose in finding him?"

"Sire, Dalvyn is much more than he appears." Eldwin shifted his gaze to Eiryn, and then continued. "He is the Nerevarine of Morrowind."

The air grew thick with silence from all in the room. The guards shifted to glance curious looks to one another, while the emperor only scowled.. Jauffre stiffened immediately. "Is this a joke?"

"The Nerevarine?" The emperor asked, not quite sure as to what he just heard.

"Yes sire." Sir Elwin replied, maintaining the air of clear strength of mind. "Dalvyn, as you know him, is known as Lord Nerevar in Morrowind. Up to a month ago, it was believed he had been lost at sea or in the Akivari lands. Under my own investigation in this matter, I discovered his whereabouts and the culprits that carried out a most wretched plan."

"How?" Jauffre challenged him with a scowl.

The emperor leaned forward, now fully at attention. "More importantly…why? I thought the Nerevarine was Morrowind's hero and savior."

"The land of the dark elves has certain factions seeking their own interests." Eiryn joined in, feeling bolder in light they were receptive to hear their story. "Many in the Great Houses still consider him n'wah-" She saw the looks of confusion to the word. "It means foreigner, or 'not of Morrowind."

"But he's Dunmer." The blademaster pointed out.

Sir Eldwin nodded, "Indeed, but many Dunmer of Morrowind are purists. They consider dark elves born outside of their homeland are somehow tainted, and not one of their own." He gave a shrug. "As for how this happened; Lord Nerevar was attacked by a woman named Divene of House Redoran. She had a personal vendetta against him and found some Televani mages to help her."

"They stripped him of his memory." Eiryn added.

"And then sent him to the Imperial prison." Eldwin finished, pulling out some papers he'd 'borrowed' from the prison guards. "As you can see, he was to be executed for murder. The signature is Divine of House Redoran."

"This is still heresy." Jauffre pointed out, but continued to read through the papers. "So forgive our distrust. We are living in dangerous times at the moment. Spies are everywhere, and you are aware of the Oblivion crisis."

"Yes," Eldwin responded with a dry tone, "I've seen for myself what remained of the city of Ald Ruhn."

Eiryn frowned, still finding doubt in their manner. "Is he here?"

"No," Martin Septim admitted, "He was sent to the Imperial City. We expect him back soon."

Eiryn and Nekros exchanged looks, having been told he left the city. "I spoke with Baurus in the Imperial City." She told them, "He said Saber would be coming here."

"Saber?" Jauffre was confused.

"Lord Nerevar," Nekros clarified for him. "He has many names. Saber is one of them, known to his friends."

To this the emperor brightened, standing up with a grin on his face. "Wait a moment. This is Eiryn…!" He laughed, finding recognition, "I thought the name seemed familiar. Don't you know who this is, Jauffre? She is companion to the Incarnate!" He extended a warm hand for her to shake. Jauffre continued to look skeptical. "I've heard the tales, of your loyalty and adventure!! The Breton scout! My goodness, I never thought I'd meet a true hero!"

Eiryn felt her cheeks get hot from blushing, stunned that she even _had_ a reputation. Usually Saber was the one who met with admirers, while she remained in his shadow. Unaccustomed to the attention, she flustered awkwardly. "I don't' know if I'd call myself a hero…"

"Of course you are!" Martin insisted, "Besides, what is a hero without those who support and help him? Without you, I doubt the Nerevarine would have reached so far!"

He had no idea how true those words were. Eiryn had met Saber who had thrown everything away and hoped to lose himself somewhere in Morrowind, to forget all about fulfilling the prophecy. From what an Ashlander wisewoman had once explained to her, Eiryn discovered he indeed had that choice. He could walk away from it all, and had done so…twice. He'd often told her that he'd done so for her. Only now, she realized the truth of his words.

"But he hasn't returned yet?" She asked for explaination. That didn't make sense. They left two days ago, after his having left a day prior to that. Where could he be? She couldn't help but look to Nekros to this. Clearly he was thinking the same thing.

"I wouldn't worry about him, "Jauffre said with a smile. "He's closed a number of Oblivion gates and saved us a number of times. He can handle himself just fine."

"You're welcome to stay here at the temple." Martin also added, "You must be weary from your journey-"

"Sire," The blademaster smiled gently. "I'll ready a room for them, and get them some food and drink." It was a subtle way to let him know that he was no longer a priest, but emperor now. "Perhaps if I may be so bold as to ask if they would join our cause…? To join the Blades is an honor-"

Eiryn nodded immediately, bowing once again. "My sword is at your service, my lord." She said, glad to find some purpose. "My oath stands as true now and it always has."

Her companion, however, was less than enthusiastic. He smiled courteously, but refused. "Perhaps, another time. By your leave, sire, I wish to seek out our elusive Dunmer before making any further pledges to the cause."

Jauffre, obviously feeling having felt slighted, lifted his chin in defiance. "This _cause_ as you so delicately put it, must take precedent over all other concerns. Oblivion Gates are opening all over Tamriel. We need help."

Undaunted, Eldwin gave a polite bow. "Apparently so, and I'm sure you'd agree that having the Incarnate at your side would make this endeavor find success?" He turned to the emperor. "For now, he believes he's only Dalvyn. Knowing who is, knowing he is the Nerevarine, he would know his power. He'd be a far more worthy ally then."

"He's a worthy ally to us now." The emperor admitted. He looked down, tugging at frayed sleeves in thought. "But I think you're right. We can't defeat our enemies alone." He motioned to Jauffre, "Be sure he gets whatever he needs."

"Yes Sire."

Eiryn turned with Eldwin, wanting to follow in his quest to find Saber. To her surprise, the vampire allowed her to follow but only until they reached the courtyard, where they could speak alone. He turned, motioning his servants back to give them privacy. "You're not going." He told her flatly.

"What?" She wasn't sure if she heard him right.

"You'll slow me down." Her temper sparked. Before she could spout a protest, he raised his hand to silence her. "And you will remember he has no memory of you."

"You're doing this so you can get to him first-!" She accused.

He rolled his eyes. "And what, Eiryn? Eh? So I get to him first, to what? I know what you must be thinking, that I will somehow lure him back into darkness or take advantage of his loss of memory." He smiled at her sudden posture stiffening. "I know how highly you think of me."

"I don't trust you." She spat.

"Good girl." Nekros purred, chuckling low. "So we understand one another. But also understand that I have changed as much as your Saber has. Understand? For better or more likely the worse. This damnable conscious serves no purpose to one of my kind. I want Saber out of my conscious as much you want mine out of his. And I have other reasons in wanting you to stay here."

"Such as?"

He stepped forward, his movement sudden and unexpectedly in her personal space she nearly stepped back. She realized he only wanted to whisper his words to him, and she gaped at what he told her.

"A breeding woman is the last thing this quest needs right now." His voice rasped, "And as I've said; you'd slow me down."

"A…what? Breeding? What are you talking about?" She sputtered.

His gaze dropped to her stomach and back to peer back into her eyes. He didn't blink, and a slow smile spread across his mouth. "A woman with child has a certain scent, so full of life. You need to think of someone more than yourself now."

She stared at him hard, finding her mouth open but unable to even spit out another word. What was he saying? It couldn't be possible! She stepped away from him, to put distance between them, in some way to deny what couldn't possibly be true. "But…" She managed, shaking her head. Breath came in short gasps as realization washed over her. Morning sickness? Her clothes seemed to be a bit tighter….but no, this was impossible!

"The sickness." He murmured to her, "And I'm betting you also find clothes a bit snug?"

"No." She refuted his words. "Its not possible. Saber told me he can't have children."

"I know…Shadowbane." Nekros nodded, mentioning a rare potion Saber had taken as a boy. The substance made one immune to nearly every poison known to man, but has other side effects that apparently the young elf hadn't considered at the time. "Supposedly renders a man infertile, but our Lord Nerevar has done so much of the possible already." He paused, eyes brightening. "Unless of course, he's not the only man-?"

Eiryn narrowed eyes dangerously. Nekros laughed at this show of temper. He lifted hands as if in false surrender. "You'll see for yourself. You could go visit the healer in Bruma if you don't believer me, or wait a few months. Either way, it makes no difference to me if you believe me or not"

A movement at the corner of her vision caught her attention as she noticed his two retainers waiting patiently for them to finish. "And you're taking them?"

"They don't slow me down."

"Nor have I." She countered. "You can't tell me that I haven't pulled my weight on our trip here. I can take care of myself. I've saved Saber a number of times-"

He shrugged. "True. You didn't slow me down, but we didn't encounter many problems now did we? Besides, you're duty is here, for king and country."

"My duty is to find Saber!"

The man's amber eyes widened dramatically, a hand covered his heart in mock surprise. "Even over your duty as a Blade? More so even than your duty to your emperor?"

"I'm coming with you!"

The smile faded quickly. Eldwin tilted his chin slightly, the amber gaze narrow and stern. "You must think of your child…"

Her breath caught, as the world seemed to tilt off reality. Her hand instinctively covered her stomach, aware now of the life within it. _My child….?_ _Saber's child…?_ A wave of fear pinched off her courage, of fear that now she was responsible for not only her own life, but the one she carried. It was all very alarming to the vulnerability she felt.

"I will bring him back to you." The voice, rough and broken had softened to a purr. "There is little point in keeping him to myself when Tamriel is under attack of the Daedra. I may be a conniving bastard, but even I know what is best for me, which just so happens means best for us all. And I cannot be seeking him out distracted with the thought of you and your unborn are at risk."

She gave a derisive snort. Her voice grew thick with sarcasm. "Right. Being the caring individual that you are."

Eldwin straightened, "Either case, you're not going."

The young Blade scout knew she was defeated in light of this new information. Much as she wanted to go, the Gates were still opening up at random throughout Cyrodil. How could she engage in battle knowing even the slightest of mistakes could cost her the life of her child? Closing her eyes, guilt warred against common sense.

"Fine." She told him, "I'll stay here and do my part. But don't expect me to sit by a fire to knit baby clothes." Eiryn hadn't meant it to be funny but Nekros laughed anyway. Perhaps he thought the idea of her being so domesticated was absurd. Perhaps he found the idea of her even knitting ridiculous. She wasn't sure if she agreed with this or not. "Bring him back."

A quick snap of his fingers summoned his retainers to follow. He smiled, giving her a slight bow of respect. Returning to their horses, she stood to watch them ride off into the distance, wondering what she should do next.

00000000

No one seemed to be guarding the entrance of the unassuming door set into a rock frame. The cave entrance was nestled near a stream, partly hidden by more stone along a hillside. Dalvyn remained cautious, keeping his bow at hand as he gauged the surrounded area with a trained eye. Having traveled through the woodlands for hours, he finally reached this place after much searching. He'd followed a hastily drawn map to which would lead him here; to the hidden Shrine known as Lake Arrius Caverns.

To the ignorant, one might find this to be like any other cave found in Cyrodil. The land was riddled with them, some of which extending far below the surface. No one couldn't be sure how deep a cave would go, or what one might find within. Some housed goblin tribes, others might have necromancers or even vampires, but Dalvyn knew here was the base of the assassins who murdered the emperor.

The Dunmer walked slowly to the door, pressing an ear to listen and found nothing. A quick assessment of supplies validated some potions, weapons, and the Mythic Dawn Commentaries that should allow him to gain entrance. This wasn't to be a quest he could sneak in. He would have to feign membership in order to infiltrate their ranks. Hopefully, he'd find the Amulet of Kings quickly and bring this back to Martin. The emperor would know what to do then.

Bracing himself, Dalvyn entered into the darkness.


	13. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

For what seemed to be the hundredth time in the day and a half of traveling, Nekros paused on the road to 'sense' around him. Now and then he had felt what could only be Saber. Over the years, the vampire had come to recognize with detached sense the emotion or vision as the Incarnate. There was a unique feel about it, and something unexplainable that wrapped his own perception of himself each time he found a connection with his former apprentice.

He felt him strongest during time of sleep, somehow allowing him to see the elf's dreams. Some dreams were not his own but of his past life as Lord Nerevar of ages past. As the years passed, this gift or curse honed with ease of use. While Saber slept, the vampire could easily find him, or during times of trouble. Now the connection was tenuous, distorted, and difficult to focus on location or train of thought. With his memory loss, finding Saber was near impossible except a flash of emotion like torn memories lost in a storm.

Glancing behind him, the assassin found both servants followed at a respectful distance. Both men fell into an uneasy silence after he told them to not speak unless spoken to. It was true he needed the quiet in order to concentrate, but he also needed the space from them as well.

Keeping the semblance of being human and maintaining a spell to guard against the sun at the same time proved taxing. The heavy use of magic left a headache, which only served to foul his mood more. He also had nagging doubts of leaving Eiryn at Cloud Temple. Common sense dictated she would be safe, but she was correct in she was no hindrance. In fact, the woman was more than capable at fighting, and more to the point, had an incredible sense of direction. Even in this foreign land, her scouting abilities remained acute.

Mother to be or not, the Breton would be a help in this stretch of highway. They traveled eastward along the Silver road leading to Cheydinhal. Nekros had never been to the city known for its Dunmer population. Only now did he wonder why. He'd always had an interest in the Dark Elves, their culture as well as abilities. Ever since finding Saber as a young boy in the Imperial City, the vampire developed an appreciation for the gray-skinned, red-eyed elves.

Some people regarded them as foreboding and ill tempered. Nekros found them alluring and mysterious. They carried natural ability with agility, strength, and skilled in magic as well. Morrowind elves were a bit different, having a higher regard towards their race and culture. Their insular society left little doubt that anyone not born of their race in their own land had no place among them. There was also something different in the way they looked.

Morrowind Dunmer had sharpened features, with chiseled chin and cheekbone carved from their harsh environments. Morrowind natives reflected their exotic land, bearing tattoos and ceremonial scars. Hair was usually black or dyed different colors, and worn in traditional braids or coifs to mark their clan. Whereas the dark elves in Cyrodil were soft at the edges, matching the humans around them, even reflecting the other cultures that could be found here.

Saber seemed more like the Morrowind elves in spirit. He was edged like a finely balanced sword, graceful yet deadly. Even his features carried a semblance that perhaps he may have originally born in Morrowind. Then again, he was the reborn Dunmer general hero of legend. Saber once told him he 'remembered' his past life, or least had dreamed of it. Nekros himself had glimpsed the honored time, and how Indoril Nerevar looked exactly as Saber did, except with golden skin and bright eyes of matching gold. Hair had been brilliant red instead of sable black. The elegant profile however remained unchanged.

Saber preferred to wear his hair long, even as a boy. Straight black, the length had grown well past his shoulders and since living in Vvardenfell, took a more traditional style of being braided or pulled back from his face. Although he bore no marks or scars, Saber had the facial characteristics of some of the House Dunmer. A well-formed nose balanced the set of his brow, and expression often shifted as easily as the weather. A quick smile could just as easily turn into a grim line in anger, or the deep wine-red eyes sparkle in mischief or shift to burning hate the next.

Nekros paused in his train of thought, letting memories mix with these new feelings unfettered from before. Here of late, there as a new emotion he wasn't fond of that could only be described as regret. What a wasteful emotion! Guilt had no purpose but to distract and coax misery. With all he'd done in his life, the vampire hadn't flinched a whit over remorse for what he'd done. Well…perhaps once in a great while, and yet since that crucial moment of biting Saber in order to change him, the course of Fate was set into motion for _him_ as well.

The 'what-if's' were the most frustrating. _What if I had raised the boy with a gentle hand? What if Saber forgave me? What if I'd been successful in changing the elf into a vampire? _The idea now was repugnant. Without the Nerevarine, Morrowind was doomed to fall beneath Lord Dagoth and the Sixth House cult. The power-mad god hoped to conquer the land of the dark elves and then eventually all of Tamriel.

I'd have my Dunmer elf, but lose everything else. Nekros was no fool. Eventually there would be nowhere to hide from the Sixth House. He had experienced the dreams like everyone else, of Dagoth's hope to destroy anyone non-Dunmer. Now it would seem Tamriel faced a similar dilemma, but this time from Mehrunes Dagon, Prince of Destruction with his Daedric minions. Instead of just Dunmer, everyone would fall beneath the hordes.

Nekros felt a sudden wave of fear overwhelm him, causing him to shudder. The train of thought couldn't possible be the cause. _Wha-?_ He blinked, sucking in a gasp as his gaze darted along the forest line around them looking for trouble. He knew almost immediately he'd find nothing. These were not his feelings. Saber was in trouble, and he was close!

Kicking the flanks of his mount to a gallop, Nekros forced the animal to plunge into the forest, to head towards what could only be the elf. By the intensity of emotion, he hoped he could reach him in time….

00000

Infiltrating the Mythic Dawn seemed just too easy for Dalvyn. He managed to enter the cave and approach a cultist without incident. There was only the one guard, and even he didn't seem to bear anything in the way of weapons. However, Dalvyn was well aware he could likely summon what he needed with a wave of his hand. There were also no guards. Perhaps they considered their shrine too remote for discovery.

Taking the role of an acolyte with a wish to join, he hoped to take the place of a Bosmer named Gwinas who had previously hoped to join the Mythic Dawn. Upon learning they were responsible for the emperor's death, he changed his mind and let Dalvyn take his place in meeting the sponsor. This led to clues that inevitable led here. Somehow he assumed they'd ask him more questions. Instead, he was welcomed and directed to a fellow dark elf named Harrow. Upon hearing the name, something rustled deep into memory.

_Harrow….harrowing…. Where had he heard that before? _Something was so oddly familiar with the term. From the darkness of forgotten memory, all he could sense was that it wasn't good. Trepidation warred against a mix of other emotions, including the first stirrings of fear. He regretted not having told someone where he was headed. Upon discovering the shrine's location, he immediately headed this way in order to get the amulet of kings as soon as possible. Now that decision nagged his judgment.

Forced to push his thoughts aside for the time being, Dalvyn tried to memorize what he could on the layout of the warren of tunnels he was guided through. The elf, Harrow, had taken all his belongings. No big deal being he knew he could replace nearly all the items if he had to. Hopefully, the items would be returned, but still the important thing now was to get into the shrine and find the Amulet.

Now wearing the same formless robe of red as his tour guide, Dalvyn felt he may as well be naked without weapons. The cloth was of an itchy material, like a feedbag thrown over the body and tightened around the waist with a leather belt. They gave him sandals that were too small, and nothing else. He hoped to simply find this amulet and get out of this place in one piece.

They had even taken his copies of the Mythic Dawn Commentaries. He was glad to be unburdened of them. The writings were of a madman, revealing little but ranting and thoughts of chaos. Somewhere in this dark place was the author, Mankar Cameron. He was the one who no doubt had possession of the amulet.

His distain for the gods was apparent, even more so his ego and surrender to Mehrunes Dagon, and hoping to find his place in Paradise. This was some sort of place set aside for those who followed Dagon.

_Drivel…_Dalvyn thought darkly to himself, glaring at the back of this Harrow fellow. _Religion was nothing but garbage for the weak minded, a crutch for those not wanting to take destiny in their own hands_. And yet this idea of destiny was becoming more like a collar of slavery to him with each passing day. More as he wanted to struggle free, it would seem to tighten its noose around his neck.

Did the gods, then, see the races of Tamriel as nothing but pieces on their game board to be flitted away for their pleasure?

_I get the amulet, give it the emperor, and then I'm done._ Dalvyn pressed lips firmly together, hoping to feel the resolve he hoped to find within himself. Doubt tugged away affirmation however. No, somehow he suspected that the gods, or fate or whoever else were not quite finished with him yet.

The Lake Arrius Caverns ran further into the mountains than Dalvyn realized. Braziers were set with fires to offer warmth and light as he trailed behind, taking notice to a number of tapestries of the same red material as his robe scribed with a yellow sun rising from the bottom of each. The air was thick with a musky scent of incense and moist stone.

Harrow paused in his walk to glance behind him, giving a brief but suspicious look. The dark elf was older, with aged lines impressed at brow and near the edges of his red eyes. The ashen hue of his skin was faded, except on his what appeared to shadow his chin and the hollows of his cheeks. Black hair was combed back from his face making his brow high and the nose more prominent. The length barely touched shoulders.

He stood at a large doorway, with the spikes of a gate jutting above almost as it to close on them like some maw ready to consume them. A strange smirk stretched the elf's mouth only slightly.

"Greet the new day, brother." He murmured.

Dalvyn wet lips suddenly gone dry. Beyond the doorway lay a vast cavern opening to what only be the inner sanctum of the Mythic Dawn's shrine. He followed close at Harrow's heels, trying not to gape at the sheer size of the room beyond.

His gaze wandered to the statue taking up the height of the cave. Four arms protruded from the figure, in a pose of attack. Two of the arms were raised with a weapon as if ready to plunge and kill all below. One of the lower arms bore an ugly weapon that wrapped the wrist into a claw like blade. The head was bare, with two pointed ears to either side. The face twisted into an expression of anger. Dalvyn recognized this as an effigy of Mehrunes Dagon, the Daedric Prince of Destruction and Betrayal. It was said he was responsible for much trouble in the past concerning the Septim line, helping the infamous Jagon Thorn to steal the throne of the Empire.

The statue stood on a raised dais of stone. Four pyramid-like obelisks rested with a receptacle of fire to light the darkened shrine. Dalvyn noticed as he neared the platform, an altar rested at the statue's feet. A reptilian form lay motionless as if asleep. He couldn't see from this distance if the Argonion was alive or dead.

Stairs led down into the cavern, leading to a place before the raised platform. Taking his place next beside Harrow among the assembled, Dalvyn could see clearly now the Altmer that stood above them with arms raised. Wearing an elegant robe of deep blue with gold thread, his garb contrasted with the simple robes of his fellow members. A familiar red and gold amulet hung at his neck, the Amulet of Kings!

This must be Mankar Cameran, leader of the Mythic Dawn and prime subject of Lord Dagon himself. Dalvyn wasn't sure what he was expecting, but this wasn't it. For all appearances, Mankar could just as easily been an elf he passed on the street. There wasn't much of anything significant about him. He was tall as most Altmer were, with yellow gold skin and pale eyes. Gray hair was combed back from an unremarkable face. Only his voice made him stand out, a voice that easily carried to the far corners of the room and boomed promised from his Lord Dagon.

He'd been speaking while Dalvyn was assessing the inner shrine. While he counted the number of cult members, taking note of possible escape routes, the voice echoed with firm determination their plans on taking all of Tamriel, much as they had done to Kvatch, except worse.

"Hear now the words of Lord Dagon!" Mankar was saying. "When I walk upon the earth again, the faithful among you shall receive your reward to be set above all other mortals forever!"

Dalvyn swallowed against a dry throat. So, Mehrunes Dagon intended on walking the earth himself. Eyes wandered to the huge form of the Prince of Destruction. With the emperor and his heirs apparently dead, and they had the Amulet of Kings, nothing would stop the impending invasion of Daedra. He looked at the other members, gauging skill against his own. With no weapons, and outnumbered, what hope did he have of escape now?

"Cleansing draws nigh!" Mankar relentlessly continued, "I go now to Paradise. I shall return with Lord Dagon at the coming of the Dawn!" With a quick motion of his hands, the air behind him swirled into an orb of light and motion. Dalvyn stared in shock as an Oblivion portal opened around the elven form. In a sudden vortex of power, Mankar was gone.

Dalvyn almost stepping forward in an attempt to go after the Altmer, but he knew the odds were against him. He'd never make it out alive. Following the elf into the unknown perhaps wasn't a good deal either. Forcing inner calm, he relaxed, glad to see no one noticed him flinch. He needed to get back to Martin and tell him what was going on! If he could back away slowly, he might be able to head out before anyone noticed-

Just as he turned to find his retreat, he heard Harrow speak up.

"We have a new brother who wishes to bind himself to the services of Lord Dagon!" The dark elf turned, flashing a genuine smile of welcome to him.

The female cultist standing near the altar spoke with the same expression of welcome. "Come forward."

Dalvyn did as he was bidden and joined the woman on the platform, aware that the assembled looked on. How many had he counted? Seven, perhaps eight? He remembered that most if not all could summon armor and weapons at a moment's notice. Was it possible he could outrun them?

The woman, a female Altmer, stood before him, shrouded in the Mythic Dawn's robe with her hood pulled to frame her face. Surprisingly she was young, with wide eyes bright with a thirst for power. "You have come to dedicate yourself to Lord Dagon's service. This pact must be sealed with red-drink, the blood of Lord Dagon's enemies." He attention shifted to the prone Argonion, unmoving but clearly alive and breathing. The gaze shifted to the stone lectern to which Mankar had spoken, still holding a large book and silver dagger.

The woman jerked her chin slightly towards the weapon. "Take up the dagger and offer Lord Dagon the sacrificial red-drink as pledge of your own life's blood, which shall be his in the end."

Dalvyn looked from the blade then to her, feeling caught in a trap of his own making. What was he _thinking_ coming here? Did his past action lead him to think he was some sort of hero? Why hadn't he asked the Blades for help? Perhaps they could've made a unified attack. Using the moment to assess his situation, he wasn't sure to find an easy way out.

Taking slow deliberate steps, the Dunmer paused before taking up the knife. His focus zeroed in on the leather bound book, bloody droplets speckled the cover, and only then realized this was the Mysterium Xarxes! The book was reputedly a source of information and lore of the Oblivion gates. If he could get this to the emperor…

The female Altmer spoke sharply, "Lord Dagon thirsts for red-drink! Sate him!"

He took up the knife, feeling the lightweight feel of silver and ivory handle. Although sharp, this was hardly enough to fend off the number of cultists in the room. He was good with a blade, but not that good. He glanced again at the book, then back at the curious faces of his 'new brethren'. With detached indifference to the Argonion, he consideredif killing this victim, would be useful in the long run. They'd accept him then, wouldn't they?

Dalvyn turned back to the low altar; taking note the Argonion had opened eyes now. The pupils were narrow slits of weary defeat. Hands were bound before him, as if in prayer.

"Help…me…" He whispered a hiss, but the words were faint as if he didn't expect mercy. And Dalvyn couldn't quite muster any. The real question here wasn't this reptile's life, but if his death would serve to get that book. Then again, if he were released, an escaped prisoner _might_ provide ample distraction…

"You must complete your initiation." The female Altmer's tone was sharp and impatient.

Doubt was quickly burned away with sudden anger. Who was _she_ to demand anything of him? He'd had quite enough from everyone else, let alone some pathetic dog of Lord Dagon's, of the constant stream of demands on him! So, her bloodthirsty god wanted red-drink? He scowled, lifting the dagger. Before she could cry out, he plunged it into her heart, following through with a powerful kick to send her backwards away from him.

Moving quickly, he cut the ropes and released the prisoner. "Move!" He snarled at now alert Argonion. Part of him hoped the distraction might be enough for him to grab the book and run for it.

He turned to find already the group of cultists had overcome their shock at his actions. The prisoner escaping diverted some of them others, however, were not so easily fooled. Lunging for the book, light and pain flashed in a blast of magic.

Dalvyn cursed, his body still tingling from the spell. He hadn't expected them to use magic against him. Summoned armor and weapons was one thing, this was quite another! Dodging another blast, he also avoided a mace swinging for his head. Twisting away, he kept the horde of Dagon followers from getting close. A quick swing of the dagger caught someone's sword arm, but there was just too many of them!

_Can't get the book!_ Knowing the situation was not in his favor, Dalvyn ran for the exit. Perhaps he could return with help-

The cry of the Argonion was silenced too quickly, but was no surprise. They were both outnumbered. He hadn't expected him to make it past the first door.

_Stupid…stupid idea….I should've killed him- _He considered options might have been favorable to just killing the beast man and gaining their trust. Throwing compunction aside, he raced back up the stairs to the way he came. Dalvyn hissed in anger upon seeing the doorway had been blocked to his retreat. The portcullis had been shut, the iron grate barring the way out. "No…"

Something hit him from behind, something solid connected to the back of his skull. This time a weapon had been used, and the world faded, but not entirely into blackness. Stunned, he felt the ground meet him, and several pairs of hands seemed to tug and drag his body that refused to do as it was told.

Staggered, he blinked, seeing too many angry faces above him, and one of which was Harrow's. The world spun.

"Do not kill him…yet!" The other Dunmer snarled. "Lord Dagon still demands his red-drink! He must be sated!"

"Yes! Yes!" Another voice shouted, soon joined by the others. "Praise to Lord Dagon!"

Too dazed, Dalvyn found it was all he could do to suck in air to keep breathing. He knew they were dragging him back to the altar, to take the place that had once been of the Argonion. Despite knowing the inevitable, he refused to give up. Arms and legs could only flounder as if he were a drowning man. The blow to his head left him little to defend himself. For the life of him, he couldn't even manage a simple spell. Flailing, he soon found hands easily clasped wrists and ankles to lay him across the slab of cold stone.

Harrow had retrieved the fallen dagger. He smiled down to his new victim, "You are not one of us….perhaps you are an agent? Perhaps you will tell us what you know before you die, yes?"

Dalvyn wondered why the world still tilted and spun in his vision, why he couldn't focus on anything. He flinched as Harrow gripped the front of his robe, forcing him to look at him.

"Who sent you?"

The Dunmer shook his head, feeling his head might wobble off his shoulders. Vaguely he heard cloth tear as a blade rent the robe to bare his chest. The sharp point of the dagger touched the sternum, promising a slow and painful death. A shiver ran up his spine. He felt pain lance as the blade seared across his chest. He grunted off the scream caught in his throat-

Let it be quick…please let it be quick… 

"You have something of mine!" A strange voice echoed in the chamber, almost like that of a snarl, the ragged sound vibrated through the air, startling the cultists as all eyes looked up to the towering statue above them. Even Dalvyn looked, feeling a dizzying sense of terror at the origin of sound. The voice didn't sound human, but then…there was something very familiar, as if he'd heard the very same tone and inflection before. He watched Harrow frown and turn back to face the room, realizing at they all did that this was not the voice of Dagon….

A hiss of wind and dull thud met the arrow protruding through his chest. Harrow stared in disbelief at the shaft, his mouth gaping and making no sound. His 'brethren' stared as well, releasing Dalvyn to find the source of this new attack.

"There!" One shouted, pointing to the ridge that ran along the perimeter of the room. High above, the 'shelf' circled the room, and a single dark shadow materialized from the darkness. The spell of chameleon dissipated, followed by another release of an arrow. This one buried clear through a cultist's throat.

The others scattered, not wanting to be next. Dalvyn knew it wouldn't take them long to re-focus and realize they still had the upper hand. Now free, Dalvyn rolled off the altar, and the world slanted on its axis. The ripped cloth was wet with blood still dripping from the wound, but he knew he'd survive that. The head injury was another matter. He nearly retched when he tried to stand, so opted to stay low on the floor_. I must have a concussion_-

Screaming and scrambling robed figures added to the chaos, this provided enough diversion for Dalvyn to crawl towards the stone podium. _Just get the book_, he told himself, trying to stay focused on this simple task.

"Stop him!" Someone was shouting too close. Turning, Dalvyn had to roll out of the way as that someone was felled by arrow to his back. The Dunmer grabbed up the tome, nearly fumbling and falling over from dizziness. A low, menacing rumble shook the foundation of the platform, literally shaking off him off his feet. Dalvyn landed knees to stone, grimacing at the pain flashing through his legs. A low grumble and the statue above fell apart in huge chunks, causing all to pause and stare at the destruction.

One more cult member fell beneath a slab of stone; another found himself pinned by the legs beneath another. He screamed in agony, shouting something to his Lord Dagon before he too was silenced by another arrow.

This rescuer, whoever he was, moved closer, the shadow easily fending off the Mythic Dawn with ease and grace. Whatever magic they worked against him had little effect, even their blows with blade and mace barely moved him. Perhaps he had some sort of magical item or power to absorb or reflect their attacks.

There was something terrifying about quickly and methodical this warrior was at killing. Dalvyn felt mesmerized or more likely simply too stunned from his injuries to do anything but watch, how effortlessly this man dispatched his victims, one by one. The movements of this man were fluid, determined and powerful. A sword was drawn and drew circles of death. A dagger in his free hand served to deflect and cause even more damage.

As the shouting and screams died down, with the last of Dagon's faithful slid off the bloodied sword, only then did this fighter turn towards him. He was human, at first glance. It took several moments before the Dunmer recognized the man as a vampire.

It would seem that sometime through the fighting, the vampire had changed, losing this illusion of being human. Now he looked back with fierce yellow eyes, and skin gone too pale. Thin lips drew back in a crooked smile as if amused by his reaction.

Dalvyn blinked, focusing vision and fighting the need to sleep. The movements, the voice…

"Do you know who I am?" The vampire asked with a voice hoarse and broken.

Unable to move let alone defend himself, Dalvyn propped by the lectern felt the shadow of unconsciousness begin to tug at his senses. "_Nekros…."_

_Note: This last scene was tough, because in the game you only have two choices. Killing the Argonion makes things slightly easier, but a low level character gets his/her butt kicked if they try to fight their way out. I always wondered what would happen if the Mythic Dawn could capture instead of outright kill you. Wouldn't they assume you were not who you said you were, and wouldn't they want to find out who sent you? Well here it is! _


	14. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Cloud Temple stood out amid the high Jarrell Mountains of the North, but so isolated was this region, Eiryn doubted anyone even took notice. She stood at the gate tower, overlooking the valley to watch the sunset to the far horizon. Wrapped in a furred cloak, she felt the sharp chill nip at her nose and cheeks. The chill of night promised possible snow before the dawn. Far away, the howl of a wolf called a long, mournful sound.

Normally, she'd be wrapped in Saber's arms, watching the sun dip to the horizon. It was a tradition they enjoyed together for years. She had watched the sunsets from their estate in Northern Vvardenfell, or when they visited Mournhold, Solstheim, or any number of places they traveled in Morrowind. Now, alone, she felt a lump rise in her throat, wondering if she were to ever see him again.

She laid a hand across her lower abdomen, thinking of the life within her. Being with Saber had always meant she was giving up having a family. It was the main reason they hadn't married, though Saber had considered from time to time they would take oath within a chapel or temple. Eiryn never let him speak much of the subject. He had his hands full with the constant bickering of the Great Houses to add his marrying a human to their already long list of problems. Even their choosing where to marry might cause more trouble for them.

But she didn't need to make oaths to him, she realized only months into their relationship. Eiryn just knew what they had went beyond all that, where neither had to prove the depth of love and the strength of friendship. Saber was her life, her best friend, her everything. Marriage only served to be more trouble within politics, with some of the Houses expecting their Hortator and Champion to pick some nice Dunmer girl.

_And now he was gone…_

_No_, she thought to herself sharply, _don't think that!_ _He wasn't gone. The Nerevarine was only missing. Nekros would find him- _She drew in a deep breath, closing her eyes against the tears that threatened to spill. The vampire's words about what they'd find when Saber was found still frightened her. What if he'd given into that darker side of himself? What if he brought back a stranger, a man she no longer recognized? What then?

Footsteps behind her alerted her of Brother Jauffre's approach. Eiryn stiffened, surreptitiously wiping at her eyes to hide her grief. The blade master hadn't noticed. Old enough to be her father, the man was balding, and aging at eyes and mouth. Whenever he smiled, the creased deepened showing how often he did so. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

"Pardon?" Eiryn blinked, wondering what he was talking about.

Gesturing to the sunset, he smiled. "The view."

"Ah, "She agreed, "Yes, it is breathtaking."

"I was surprised your traveling companion didn't stay at least for the night." He commented. "If only to rest or take supper with us."

"Sir Eldwin wished to find Saber as soon as possible."

"That is very noble of him."

She swallowed back a laugh at the idea of Nekros being noble. "Indeed."

Shifting his stance, the Blade master spoke, and obvious now to the reason why he was here. "You mentioned you were a Blade in Morrowind…?" Eiryn nodded where he continued, "So you knew Caius Cosades?"

"Yes." She wasn't sure where this was leading. Due to her kinship with Caius, she'd been raised always to keep this secret. Did the Blades know he fathered a daughter in Morrowind? "He left Morrowind six years ago. I heard he retired to Bravil…" And she hadn't heard much from him other than a brusque letter saying he was happy where he was and hoped the best for her and Saber.

"Leyawiin, actually." Jauffre corrected her.

Her brows rose up in surprise. "And he lives there still?" A pang of guilt reminded her how she had thought of him in ages, and hadn't kept in touch with her father, even knowing his Skooma addiction. He implied that was the very reason why he left for Cyrodil years before. She had hoped he would find the strength to quit, and return home. Instead, the messages she received from him spoke only of his want to retire. Eventually the correspondence stopped coming except on the holidays.

"I'm considering sending word to all Blade members to come here." He told her, "Even those from retirement. Naturally, for the older Blades it would be their choice to come. Perhaps you know of others in Morrowind who would answer the call?"

The Blades' guild made a point to keep membership secret, even from other members. Only Saber might know their identities, but now would have no possible means to remember. After the Nerevarine saved Morrowind, their roles of serving the emperor had waned dramatically. For six years, they had only the concerns of Vvardenfell to consider.

She did however know of one Blade who would jump at the chance to serve the emperor himself. Her mouth tightened in a smirk. "You've heard of Merthisan Kendari?"

Jauffre nodded, eyes brightening. "Who hadn't heard of the famous hero and adventurer? But I thought he retired..?"

That was true, but last she spoke with the Imperial warrior, he'd complained of boredom. Merth lived close to Pelagiad now, and had revealed that he hoped to die in battle, not wasting away as a doddering old fool. In his youth, master Kendari was considered the greatest swordsman in Tamriel. He had trained Saber as a boy, after the young elf had escaped Nekros' influence. To come and fight off the hordes of Daedra would be exactly what he'd want to do.

"Trust me, he'll want to come." She assured him. The aged warrior may be seeing more gray and creases to his face, but even sparring with him, she found him a formidable opponent. "I will send word to him if you have a messenger."

"Excellent!" The blade master rubbed hands together in anticipation. "Oh, and there is another matter I wish to speak to you about."

"Yes?"

"There's a little matter concerning possible spies in Bruma." He shrugged, "I do not wish to leave the emperor without a number of guards here…"

"I'll find them." Eiryn found her mood already brightening at the thought of being useful. Anything was better than sitting around worrying and fretting. Investigating and weeding out spies was exactly the something she could do well. "I'll leave first thing in the morning."

"I know you only just arrived…" He seemed almost apologetic in asking her to take a role in this spy business.

"I'm eager to help."

"Ah good." He turned to leave, paused and turned back to her. The aged Imperial gave a light sigh. "Oh yes, I almost forgot. The emperor…He has requested you dine with him tonight."

"Me?"

"Since coming to Cloud Temple, he doesn't have much to do except read books. I think he wants to hear your stories of adventure in Morrowind." Jauffre motioned to the main building with its winged shaped roof. "Dinner will be in the Main Hall, in an hour."

Flattered and intrigued, Eiryn nodded. She had dined with the High Council of Morrowind, met with King Helseth, drank tea with the Queen of Mournhold, and now this? Who would've thought a simple girl from Morrowind would be dining with the Emperor himself!?

00000

Nekros was surprised upon hearing his old name_. Does he actually remember me? _He didn't see the revulsion, fear, or hate generally associated with the Dunmer. But then, he was also injured. The elf could barely sit up, even with propping himself in a sitting position against the stone lectern.

The Nerevarine looked different from the stylish dark elf Nekros had come to know. He now carried a more formidable visage, edged, and darker. He also looked thinner than before. The woman Divene had shaved his long hair, which now was black fuzz against his skull. The torn robe had rent to the waist, showing ribs too defined. Even his face carried a gaunt appearance; the eyes had a shadowed look to them.

A dusky hand touched the back of his head, pulling back to find blood. The burgundy gaze blinked too much, trying to stay awake. "Damn."

The wound on his chest was superficial, having been nothing more than a long, clean slice to draw blood and pain. But the head injury indicated something more serious. He appeared on the verge of passing out, even disoriented. Just as he slid to the side, the vampire knelt to catch him. Red eyes rolled trying to focus.

"You remember me?" Nekros asked his former apprentice.

The face pinched in pain and confusion. He gave a brief shake of his head. "Not…sure. No…maybe…I'm so…tired."

"Stay awake." Nekros ordered. Nothing in the posture or eyes showed anything of recognition. He wasn't sure to be disappointed or grateful. "Do you hear me? I'm going to find some healing for you. You need to stay awake."

Saber bobbed his head a vague affirmative as he was propped back against the stone lectern once more. Nekros scavenged what he could off the bodies littering the inner shrine. Most of Dagon's chosen had nothing but their robes. A few had daggers, and one had a healing potion. Not much, he considered, but enough to help and ease the pain.

"Here-" He returned to find the Dunmer still sitting, this time knees were drawn up to his chest with elbows resting on knees and hands cradling his head. "I found this."

Watching the elf swallow the contents in almost one gulp, Nekros guessed he might need three more to be fixed completely to right. It was more than just iron and steel that the Mythic Dawn had attacked with. A number of spells affected more than just the body. They would need to find a chapel and find restorative spells there.

"Better?"

Saber nodded, still obviously in some pain, but bearable and having a clearer head. He looked up with suspicion now, the head slightly tilted upon appraising him. "I know you?" He wanted answers.

"You said the word Nekros." The vampire noted the chest wound scabbed and healed, the blood stopped dripping from the head wound. He began ripping some of the cloth from a dead man's robe to use as bandages to secure what was left of the damage.

Saber didn't seem to mind. Sitting still, he let his rescuer help, leaving Nekros to guess he had no idea their relationship. His naive sense of trust was very unnerving to the one who faced so much of his ire in the past. "Is that your name? Nekros?"

Ah, so he doesn't remember me after all. Nekros this time felt a bit relieved. "You know what Nekros means?" The elf shook his head, curious. The vampire busied himself by wrapping the cloth around the head. "It means Death in Old Common."

The expression didn't change from its curious stare. Nekros finished, settling back to see his handiwork. Not bad for a vampire more accustomed to killing than healing. "Its not my name however." He told the elf, knowing at least in that he spoke the truth. Nekros had never been his true name. Nekros had been a guise he took for himself when he was younger. For now, he hoped to deter Saber from remember the darker shades of his past and focus on the future ahead. "And we don't have time for introductions. We need to get you out of here."

"Wait…I need to know if you know me, know who I am!" Anger was abrupt, the eyes flashing crimson in the dark. "I sensed you, coming…Even now, I can feel you-" The brows pinched together in a scowl. Nekros knew what he meant. The bond flared now being they were so close. "I don't understand."

Nekros nodded gravely, motioning for him to retrieve a weapon before they headed out. "Its difficult to explain, and we don't have time. Suffice to say, yes, I know you. I will explain all later. Now we must get out of here before the others noticed what has happened to their brethren."

A pause was enough to let him know he didn't like the idea, but would go along…for now. "Wait! The book!" The elf snatched up the tome before getting to his feet. He still appeared shaken and weak, but stood without help. He searched for what remained of Harrow amid the rubble of the fallen statue. Upon finding the body, he retrieved what he could of his lost items, and dressed back into worn leather armor and buckling a sword at his hip.

Nekros watched, puzzled with the small detail. Saber had always preferred a sword sheathed to his back. His reason was to keep the scabbard from banging against his legs as he crept about, and was easier to snatch for quick withdrawal. Now he appeared to have taken with new habits. How much had he changed having lost his sense of Self?

"We can't go the way we came in." Nekros told him, motioning to the only exit now available. "We can assume the other's don't know what's happened here, so take my lead and we can keep the element of surprise. Agreed?"

The Dunmer nodded, settling a quiver on his back, and taking up a bow. "You mean pick them off before they see us." An odd grin pulled the mouth into a crooked smirk, as if enjoying the idea. The old Saber would've mentioned something about avoiding a fight altogether.

"Let's go."

They made their way through the narrow tunnels, with the vampire taking the lead. He had the Hunter's Sight, allowing him to sense any living thing through walls and at a good distance. Amorphous glowing shapes would appear not only indicated where they were, but how many and what they were doing. This made detecting the cultists with ease, often killing them before they could summon weapons. Even outnumbered, they simply would kill from afar with a single shot of an arrow, leading others back through the narrow tunnels to be picked off one by one.

Nekros basked in the camaraderie with his former novice. They worked effortlessly together, using skills to enhance the other. Where one might miss a shot, the other found its mark. For the first time in his life, the vampire knew exactly what he'd missed with Saber as his apprentice. Also for the first time, he felt the first stirring of loss for losing it. This only served to solidify his need to enjoy the time he had with him. _Eventually he'll know the truth, and he will be back to hating me…_

Most noticeable was the Dunmer's fighting style had changed, losing the dance-like grace but adding a level of effective ruthlessness he didn't have before. Whatever he'd learned from Master Kendari through formal training was replaced with brutal efficiency. Speed and agility matched quick reflexes and determined strokes.

The sword was used for hacking and slashing, connecting with kicks and hits; whatever that would gives him the upper hand against his opponent. There was no use of magic, which struck Nekros as very odd. The elf had mastered a number of spells, which made him a formidable adversary. Nekros wasn't sure what to make of that. He had grown fond of the debonair style of the Incarnate.

"Do you suppose that's all of them?" Saber asked, leaning against the wall of a narrow tunnel to catch his breath. Bodies lay like crumpled dolls at his feet.

Handing over another healing potion discovered on one of the fallen, the vampire nodded. He didn't sense any more, and knew they were almost to the exit. "I'll need to feed before we go." He informed him. Both of his retainers had been killed when they first entered the shrine. Nekros hadn't even paused on his way to rescue Saber, but then he never intended on keeping that as long as he had.

The mer shrugged, motioning to the bodies on the floor. "Take your pick."

_How odd he's not revolted by my feeding. He always had before_. Not used to feeding off the dead, the blood had begun to thicken and didn't flow as easily. There was enough, however, to slake his needs, and he felt strength and power returning.

"Are you going to tell me your name?"

Surprised by his wanting to know, Nekros smiled. "Eldwin. Eldwin Phlallo."

The red stare flickered away in thought. "That doesn't seem familiar to me. I _do_ know you, don't I?"

Best tell him something. "Yes, you do." But what do I tell him? The Truth? How would he accept the fact I was a cruel master he once tried to kill as a boy, and we've been at odds ever since? "I …was your master when you were a boy."

"Master?" The tone was dubious.

"You were my apprentice."

The Dunmer drew in a breath. "To be an assassin?"

"Do you remember?"

Saber shook his head, "No, but I was told I murdered someone, and only guessed that might be my profession."

The irony was incredible. Nekros realized why Eiryn had worried so much of his going to find Saber alone. How easily it could be to tell the Dunmer anything now, to convince him that he had been trained and they were good friends! I could tell him anything…and he'd believe me! The possibilities were overwhelming. A nudge here, a calculated lie there and Saber could be his!

But this cursed conscious! By giving into his own selfish wants, he'd be taking a formidable hero that might save Tamriel from the Daedra invasion. As much as he relished the idea of claiming him, there was something oddly different about him that the vampire found troubling. He just wasn't the same.

Nekros frowned inwardly, sensing the nagging guilt that prompted him towards the truth. "You didn't murder anyone. You killed a House noble in Morrowind who had challenged you to a duel to the death. You won. His daughter didn't take things too well."

"His daughter?"

"Yes, she is the one responsible for wiping your memory clean."

Anger twisted his features in sudden rage. "And what became of her?"

Nekros didn't have to ask to know revenge was on his mind. "Dead."

The elf paused, seething at losing his chance to seek retribution. "I'm from Morrowind? What is my name? You told me you'd tell me-"

Nekros sighed, defeated in having any hopes to lie. How could anyone survive with such mindfulness towards good and order? Why was it that Saber never seemed to mind to have the moral high ground? To a vampire, the burden was too much. "I'm not sure if you'll believe me. Your life's story is a long one, and this will take some time to tell it."

"I have the time." The grim expression promised he'd go nowhere until he heard everything, until he heard all the answers to his questions.

"Very well." Nekros told him, "You best sit down. This is going to take a while."

Note: I'm still working at this bit by bit. I also have a few other stories I'm working on, of original fiction, as well as blogs and other projects.


	15. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

The aroma of spices filled the Great Hall, adding to the already warm sense of home. Within the huge hearth to the one end of the room a fire burned a cheery blaze. Several tables were set to gather the Blades in small groups, each laden with breads, cheese, and port. Already most of the Blades who lived here had gathered at their seats, enjoying the company of their fellow guild members.

The Great Hall, she'd been told, was a place of honor. High above hung the swords of Blades who died in service, with the thick wooden columns bore testament to the ages that passed. The ceiling vaulted above, as paired dragons carved from timber watched over them. Hung braziers added light and heat, with a line of narrow windows allowed the sunlight during the daytime hours.

Eiryn met the nods and smiles of welcome, and found the emperor sitting at his own table cleared of books with two plates set for them. He stood out of politeness, still wearing the frayed robe of the Akatosh order. The genuine smile met her own, and she took the seat opposite of him.

Her stomach rumbled, though the sound was lost in the murmuring conversations around her. She gave a brief bow before sitting. "Your majesty-"

He lifted hands up, shaking his head. "Please call me Martin." He told her, "I'm still not used to the posturing the others do, but if you could indulge me just through supper and call me by my given name, I'd appreciate it."

Eiryn laughed. Saber had much the same opinion of his own position back in Morrowind. He balked at titles, and preferred the more comfortable lifestyle they kept at their estate. Even she could never get used to the formality of rank. "Very well."

The young scout took the napkin and laid the cloth across her lap, waiting for her host to start the meal. He took notice, amused. "You have such fine manners." He commented, mimicking her movements. "I suppose I'll have to adopt much the same. In Kvatch, I had no reason to learn protocol, being that I served the poor."

"Serving the poor is a noble cause." She smiled.

He bowed his head in thanks, "My life as a priest was simple. There were not that many expectations from me. Now things are very different."

Eiryn sipped wine, enjoying the taste of grapes for the first time. Her usual beverage was Comberry wine of Vvardenfelll, having more of a bitter aftertaste than what she encountered here. She'd have to remember to bring some bottles home with her. "You must have been shocked to discover your true heritage."

The emperor gave a light-hearted shrug of his shoulders. "I suppose it wasn't much different than the Nerevarine."

To this, Eiryn had to laugh. "On the contrary; When Saber was told he was to meet the conditions of a Dunmer prophecy, he disappeared."

"He left?" Doubt was apparent.

"Oh the stories don't tell that part of the 'legend', but its true. Saber had no intention of fulfilling any prophecy, even if it meant for him to be thrown back not prison."

"Prison?"

Ah, she thought, so that part of his story was also omitted from the tale. "He was a thief, in prison, before he was sent to Morrowind." She told him. "He told me it was under duress that he even joined the Blades. Once he'd been released in Vvardenfell, he went along with orders only out of curiosity. When he was finally told of his true purpose there, he simply left."

The emperor's eyes widened. "But…how could he? Wasn't he destined to be the Incarnate?"

"Destiny is a funny thing." She cut the seasoned meat on her plate. "I think ultimately, Fate would catch up to him, but not before he ran off to the city of Suran. He wasn't going along with the plan of destiny. He had every intention of losing himself in the remote Ashland regions."

"What changed his mind?"

A slow smile spread over her mouth at the memories. "I was sent to Suran to tell him he had to return to the city of Balmora. At the time, I had no idea what his quest was. We started talking about this and that, and well…the rest is history."

"So you convinced him to stay?"

"Not exactly." She admitted. "I was simply a messenger of the Blade Guild. He decided he might make a tidy profit if he went along with the emperor's plan. And if I recall…his words were something like "I have nothing better to do."

This prompted a laugh from the young ruler of Tamriel. "They don't mention any of this in the bard's tales."

To that, she had to agree. Nearly all she'd heard of him was not even close to the truth. "They probably didn't mention he was also in a brothel at the time?"

Another laugh cheered the Imperial. "Hardly what you'd find in a hero."

"That's exactly what he thought!" She still remembered as if it were yesterday finding the practically naked elf in his room. Even then, she was caught by his good looks and charm.

"So tell me of Morrowind. I understand it's very different from Cyrodil."

It was that, not that she had much experience outside of the land of the Dark Elves. She'd lived there all her life. A native would take things for granted, that is, until they found themselves on foreign shores. Only when pairing up with Saber did she learn of the other lands and what the Imperial City was like.

Eiryn shared what she knew; enjoying his questions and the wonder of far away places. He was fascinated with the wildlife in particular, with the Netches that floated in gathered herds like clouds, or the huge Siltstrider used for transportation. The emperor was an educated man, and shared how he'd traveled most of Cyrodil in his younger days. Books were a passion of his, as well as learning what he could about all things. He seemed to know about Morrowind, considering he never set foot there.

"I read a lot." He shrugged with a sheepish grin. "Sometimes I'd find reason to meet whatever adventurer came to Kvatch just to hear their stories."

"Then you'd love our library." Eiryn told him. "We've gathered books from where ever we've been, many of which are original prints."

"So the Nerevarine is an avid reader?"

"Very much so."

He gave a chuckle, shaking his head slowly. "I still find it difficult to believe Dalvyn as the Incarnate. He struck me as being just a mercenary."

"This memory loss has changed him." In truth, the Bond was what changed him the most. For the past few years his temper had gotten worse. Even his decisions were marred by a sudden thirst for revenge or death. The Breton scout wasn't sure if she should bring up the subject of Nekros' link with him. He had left no doubt she was to tell no one, more likely extending to the emperor, to tell anyone of his true nature. "I hope we can find a means to put him back to the way he was."

"You seem to have doubts…" Martin commented watching her closely.

She forced a smile. "The spell they worked on him had no means of reversing. They had intended him to be executed by now. I'm not a magic user….so I don't know if its possible…" She turned away, eyes suddenly misting.

"If anything that I've learned this past month," Martin told her softly, "is that anything is possible."

Drawing in a breath, she was comforted by his words. "I certainly hope so."

-------

Nekros was painfully aware of the silence sitting behind him on the horse they shared. Saber had spoken little since he'd been told he was the Nerevarine. At first, he was disbelieving, but mentioned having strange dreams since he woke in the Imperial prison. Being the Incarnate made sense, he finally admitted, but said little else since. The detached indifference was more than a bit unsettling. _He's definitely changed_, the vampire thought to himself.

To the far horizon, the first light of dawn was threatening to break. He knew the elf was exhausted, having need of more healing. He'd likely require restoration spells. They needed to find a place to rest for the day before setting out for Bruma.

Nekros supposed they could've stayed in the shrine, yet neither wanted to discover any cultists who might arrive unexpectedly, nor find Oblivion portals releasing more Daedra either. The sooner they found a city, the better.

Nekros had to admit he still enjoyed the warmth of the body behind him. Knowing that time would be short with him, he simply appreciated sharing his company until they reached the city.

He'd told Saber his life's story, keeping it short and to the point. He was a killer, not a storyteller. He found there was no need for dramatics. The events of his life were enough to be difficult to believe, from his being discovered as a foundling in the Imperial City to a brief history of his training. He told the same story of his becoming the Incarnate as the bard's tales, feeling they were more forgiving than the truth.

The vampire felt it prudent to completely omit the animosity between the two of them. He didn't explain that it had been Saber that carved the deep scar in his throat, or the failed attempt at changing him into one of his clan. He didn't even mention the bond between them for now. He also avoided the topic of how cruel he'd been to the elf most of his childhood. They simply parted ways, where Saber had chosen a life in the Thieves' Guild over that of an assassin.

Nekros couldn't bring himself to lose this one chance to be with the one thing he'd never have in his life. Time enough to share that morsel of information where there'd be little doubt the Dunmer would return to hating him as he had over the years. Even with his memory returned, Saber would likely try to kill him.

Much to his surprise the elf said little and asked nothing. He listened attentively, keeping thoughts to himself.

"You're quiet.' Nekros commented.

A moment's hesitation was followed by a distracted voice. "Just thinking."

"If you have questions, I'll answer them." He wasn't sure he would answer them truthfully, but he'd answer just the same.

A light escape of air could be considered a sigh. The elf continued to be non-committal. "Part of me wants to deny everything you say. But I know it's true. I can't explain how I know, only that I do. I just wish… I could remember my life."

"We've considered ways of returning your memory."

"We?" The voice echoed.

_Oh damn, did I forget to mention Eiryn? How stupid of me. _Nekros knew why, knowing the woman might be the one thing to jog him back into the mer he once was. "Eiryn."

"Eiryn?"

"She's a scout, the one who's been your companion for years now…?" Turning in the saddle, he looked at the blank, confused expression on the elf's face. He doesn't remember her! "Doesn't ring a bell?"

Wine-red eyes fluttered away to the moving landscape, sorting through what he did know. "She has green eyes?"

_Damn…he does remember her._ "Long brown hair….green eyes…yes."

"I've dreamt of her. She never spoke."

Nekros scowled, turning back in the saddle. _With a tongue as sharp as daggers! _"Oh she speaks. One might say she has a gift for it."

Again, Saber fell into an awkward stillness. He wore this silence like a shroud. This was so unlike him. No…Nekros corrected himself. Memories of long ago came to mind, when he was a boy. Silence had been his ally, to never question or provoke his master with the wrong word. At the time, the vampire had demanded that of him, with complete obedience. Now the characteristic was disquieting. He never realized how little he knew of his thoughts because of it.

Fortunately the city of Cheydinhal loomed ahead above the treetops. Able to now ignore the silence, Nekros pointed to the towering walls. "We'll rest up, re-supply and head out to Bruma as soon as we can." Nekros told him, guiding the horse to the stable set outside the city gates.

A low, ambiguous sound in his throat was the only response.

--------

Flakes drifted on the chilled night air as Eiryn huddled near a rock. She cupped gloved hands, blowing breath to warm numb fingertips. Her cloak and furred armor wasn't able to ward off the cold as she hoped. Unaccustomed to the freezing weather, she regretted not taking another route in finding the suspected strangers that were very likely spies. However, a guard at the Cloud temple mentioned seeing two individuals near the Runestones set along the hillside. They rested practically at the base of the mountain where Cloud Temple sat. The coincidence was too much to ignore.

Runestones were similar to Doomstones in appearance with a circle of stone surrounding a taller monolith. Carved runes inset upon the middle rock, providing a traveler with summoned enchantments in the form of armor, weapons, or powers similar to that of the birth signs. Eiryn found Jauffree was helpful in describing their use, explaining that the Runestone used a skill of conjuration and one might find one of three types. Reman Rune Stones would summon a cuirass and sword, or axe. Sidri-Ashak summoned bow and helm, while the Hestra, as this one was, would invoke a blade or mace, and bracers. She wasn't entirely certain of her conjuration skill to try this, but hoped to have time to explore the magic of Cyrodil once the Gates have shut.

Despite the fact this particular Runestone was located at the base of Cloud Top, her fellow Blades could not be spared from their posts. This left the task of questioning the strangers that came too close to the Imperial heir to her. Many suspected the Mythic Dawn had something to do with their timely arrival.

"They appear at dusk," Captain Stephen had told her. Guards in the city of Bruma also confirmed this, adding they saw little else in the way of strangers. Folks were too scared to travel much with the Oblivion gates opening all over Tamriel.

Hoping for the element of surprise on her side, Eiryn headed to the Runestones to see who might arrive at the appointed hour. The sun lowered in the horizon at an agonizingly slow pace, leaving the scout to wonder if she might end up frozen against the stone if someone didn't show up soon!

The sound of approaching footsteps against the snow caused her to catch her breath. A Redguard woman was walking directly to the Runestones. She was a small boned woman, with black hair cropped short. By her worn and tattered clothes, she appeared as nothing more than a peasant. The brown cloth was patched and seams had been sown more than once in repair. When the dark skinned woman paused in her climb to the Runestones, she looked over her shoulder to see if anyone had followed. She then continued to stand amid the stones.

Eiryn was careful to peek around the edge of the large boulder she had chosen as her hiding spot. The woman's back was to her, and it appeared she wrapped arms around herself in an effort to keep warm and simply waited. _But waiting for whom?_

Unwilling to wait half the night for someone else to appear, Eiryn drew her sword. Even if someone were to show up, she would then be outnumbered. Best take chances with this woman now rather than later.

Even with a light step, the Redguard turned to find her approaching. Much to Eiryn's surprise, there was no introduction or even hesitation in her demeanor. She didn't even ask her what she was doing there. The woman suddenly scowled, simultaneously lifting a hand to spill magic from her fingers. The greenish light swirled around her, forming red cloth, and black and silver armor.

Quick in defense, Eiryn's sword snapped to block the abrupt mace the woman had invoked. The blade nearly flew out of numbed fingers. Angry now, Eiryn planted feet firmly as she retaliated with a punch in the woman's face. Knuckled struck against the mask, smarting but having an impact of catching her off guard.

Saber had often told her to take advantage in fights such as these, sparring with her until many such movements became instinct. Eiryn dropped in time to avoid another swing of the blunt weapon, dropping to the ground to sweep a leg at the woman's ankles. The move was completely unexpected as she yelped in anger and surprise. Giving the woman no time to realize her intention, Eiryn followed through with a thrust of the sword to the now exposed abdomen. A wrenching groan was the last the Redguard could gasp out before finally remaining still beneath the falling snow.

The Mythic Dawn… Eiryn saw only the woman now, her armor fading in a cloud of magic. _Definitely a spy. Why else attack?._ A search of the body revealed a key; a house key by the look of it.

Didn't Jauffre mention more than one spy? Pocketing the find, Eiryn headed towards Bruma to investigate.

NOTE: Writing is off and on for me lately, especially with working on a number of projects including some original fiction I'd love to get published! Taking breaks, I try to squeeze out more of the fanfiction when I can. Here is the result of a few months.


	16. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

The Cheydinhal Bridge Inn cost nearly three times the amount of the neighboring Newlands Lodge across the street, but apparently had all the finer amenities. This was Eldwin's argument for paying the excessive amount of gold for a room, justifying the cost for a larger bed with better food. Dalvyn refused to argue, accepting without question the man's insistence upon staying in the more luxurious lodgings.

He must be a born noble, Dalvyn considered to himself. Eldwin had all the manners and well spoken words of one, as well as the finer armor and weapons. Too lost in the newfound knowledge of his past, however, prevented the Dunmer from doing anything but remain lost in his lack of memories.

_You would think I would remember being the Nerevarine. _

But then, hadn't he dreamt of something similar, of being a lord over an estate? And if he were the Incarnate, what can he expect then? Would he continue playing hero? And the woman, Eiryn; she was alive! Memory of her always brought about a sense of calm, and now understanding she was in the city of Bruma made him want to leave as soon as possible.

Eldwin frowned at his insistence. "You're not fit to travel." He stated as they entered their room. Throwing off his sword to a low bench, he subsequently dropped their packs on the floor. "And I cannot remain in the daylight for very long."

"How is it you can be under the sun at all?" Dalvyn asked him.

A hand lifted to wiggle fingers, setting the rings flashing in the candle glow of the room. "Magic, of course."

Feeling suddenly exhausted, and bearing the added weight of the world on his shoulders, Dalvyn sat on the edge of the large bed. He watched the man hang their cloaks over the windows to darken the room. Food had been ordered, and Sir Eldwin had announced he would sleep on the floor to the far side of the room, allowing Dalvyn the large bed to himself. The generosity was lost to him. He cared little for manners, less for propriety. What he wanted were answers.

"Did I know you were a vampire growing up?"

"No." The Imperial refused to even look at him now as if touchy on the subject.

"Did you feed on me-?" It would make sense; that someone would keep someone around as cattle. Somehow Dalvyn couldn't fathom this man being a friend.

"No." Eldwin glared this time as if he was insulted by the question.

"Why did I leave you?"

"I already told you."

"No, you didn't." Dalvyn insisted, remembering he only mentioned that he had chosen to be a thief instead. "You didn't explain why I left." In fact, the Imperial seemed to leave out a number of details of his past, such as why did Eldwin take him on as an apprentice, or anything about their relationship now.

Eldwin busied himself with unpacking essentials to check supplies. "I cannot guess what motivated you in leaving." He said, obviously lying. "But there are more pressing matters to discuss than our past history but that of the future."

The Dunmer didn't like his controlling the topic of conversation, let alone refusal in discussing matters. He somehow sensed he'd get nothing more from this man, so opted to scowl darkly at him instead. "Helping me to regain my memories?"

"Precisely." The vampire set out to unroll a small bundle, as if its contents would be answer enough. The elf had no idea what to expect, but to Dalvyn's surprise, the bundle produced nothing but a ring. The silver glowed in the subdued light, flashing magic off a crescent moon and star. Light against black silk.

_The Moon and Star…_ Memory rustled from the blackness, invoking nothing but faded memory of a hero's ring, made by the ancient Dweemer. _A ring of power…enchantments that would help his quest… _

"Do you recognize it?" Eldwin asked of him.

Yes he did…but then….memory flitted away like a candle snuffed out. Scowling, Dalvyn swallowed against a suddenly dry throat. "There was something..." He shook off the feeling of weakness, "No, nothing."

The vampire watched his reaction. "It's the ring of Lord Nerevar." Eldwin knitted fingers together, sitting back in his chair to explain. "The Moon and Star was the one thing that let others know you were in fact Lord Nerevar reborn. The story goes on to tell how Lord Nerevar had the Dweemer create and enchant the ring to help his efforts in uniting the Great Houses."

_He doesn't touch it_, Dalvyn noted to himself. "The Dweemer…?" Dalvyn remembered something about the ancient Dwarven race, gone now and that they had disappeared in the chronicles of history. It was said they knew of machinery and magic, that their magic had also wiped them out.

"And only Lord Nerevar, the Incarnate and Nerevarine reborn can wear this ring."

"And what happens to anyone else?"

"They die."

Dalvyn scowled, his mood darkening. Well, this explains why he doesn't touch it. "You want me to wear the ring, to see if I am this hero you mentioned?" _Perhaps he wishes to see if I die?_

The vampire straightened, "Actually no. I don't. I think there is a chance that wearing the ring can kill you. If the spell that wiped your memory was powerful enough to do that, I wonder if that had also erased who you were as well. If that is the case, then putting this ring on your hand would very well kill you."

"So what then?"

Eldwin shrugged. "I would like to cancel out all other possibilities before taking a more….permanent path." He rolled the legendary trifle back within the folds of cloth, leaving the bundle beside the bottle of port. "I had hoped seeing the ring might jog your memory. Perhaps seeing Eiryn might jog your memory. When we reach Bruma we can know for certain. "

Dalvyn only nodded, still obsessing about going to Bruma. One night to recuperate shouldn't make a difference, especially if he wasn't up to fighting Oblivion gates along the way. Nevertheless, it bothered him to relax his guard. A light knock at the door revealed the inn's proprietor, holding a tray of roasted beef with vegetables. Eldwin motioned to have the food placed on the table and tipped the woman a gold coin. "I'm going to find some restoratives for you. Eat, sleep, and I'll be back soon."

Dalvyn watched him go, leaving him to his thoughts. Eldwin was obviously hiding something, which struck the elf as very odd being he was a vampire. _What else could he possibly want to hide from me?_ Too tired to think on the subject further, he left his meal half-eaten and curled up on the oversized bed. More than anything, he was just tired. _Tired of this quest, tired of living a shadow of a life._

It seemed he only just closed eyes to sleep, left in that strange place between thought and dream before he sensed someone was in the room. A quick look to the candle on the table revealed hours had passed. Startled, he found a strange man materialize from a chameleon spell at the foot of the bed.

"You sleep soundly for a murderer…." The man said with a mask of indifference. "That's good. You'll need a clear conscience for what I'm about to propose."

-----

Eiryn found the city of Bruma reminding her of the villages of Solstheim. The buildings carved in Nordic design were much the same, with the architecture built into the ground to harbor the warmth. Half the homes, she knew had ground floors that would often be bedrooms. This way they kept warm like an animal's burrow. Roofs were wide and low to accommodate the snowfall, as well as keep the heat from hearth and stoves within the thick houses.

She had visited the island north of Skyrim with Saber on a light-hearted trip to see a bit of the world. What was meant to be a short vacation in adventure ended up a quest that lasted for several months. It was the first time she encountered ice and snow, and creatures called Werewolves. Despite the dangers, she found the cold was a bit too much for her. Now here in Bruma, the cold felt damp; not the dry chill of Solsthiem.

The high walls of the city offered a false sense of security, she noted. Stories of Kvatch's downfall told of a monstrous machine and creature that could easily scale the highest of stone battlements. War was coming, and the unsettled restlessness of folks illustrated this.

Having dealt with the Mythic Dawn's spy, she remembered mention of there being more than one. Weren't there reports of _two_ spies? She spoke to the Bruma Captain of the Guard, who told her the woman she killed was named Jearl, and had recently returned from traveling.

Captain Burd handed back the key she showed him "I'd rather stay out of this Mythic Dawn mess." He told her," I'll tell my men to allow you to investigate and handle this as you see fit."

What was unspoken was his allowing her to even kill if necessary.

"Isn't this your jurisdiction?" Eiryn challenged him. Not that she cared to handle this on her own or not, but in light the man had a number of armed guards he could order to help left her confused. Had so many years, even more quest leave her jaded to dealing with dangers now?

"If you're a Blade serving the emperor, then spies are your responsibility." He said, running a hand over short cropped hair. Something in his manner bespoke of nervousness. "I have other matters to attend to. Seems there's rumor we're had a vampire among us-"

"What?" Eiryn asked, immediately wondering if Nekros was involved. Had they caught him? Had he returned and said nothing to her?

Burd sighed lightly, "Seems a man named Bradon Lirrian was a vampire. Don't worry though. A vampire hunter has taken care of it."

"Vampire hunter?"

The Imperial shook his head in disbelief. "I knew Bradon…I never thought he was a vampire. I suppose it just goes to show you they can easily hide among us."

Eiryn nodded, knowing too well how those words could be. She considered Nekros might find himself as one of the hunted for a change. Oddly she didn't feel the smug satisfaction at that thought. She still wanted him brought down a peg or two, but killed? _What am I thinking? Shouldn't I want him dead? He's a monster_. But he had also saved Saber a number of times. Unable to resolve the conflicting emotions Eiryn moved on, thanking the captain for his help.

. Either case, she had a spy to discover.

-----

Under a spell of Chameleon, Lucien Lachance could easily travel among people without their even knowing. The anonymity of his profession provided a level of mystery and unknowing fear to those who heard the words _Dark Brotherhood_. No one would dare cross the assassin's guild, renowned for its brutal efficiency in dealing out death. So it came as a surprise when Lachance sensed he was being followed in the streets of Cheydinhal. And whoever dogged his steps was very good at it. He might have missed the footsteps keeping a length away, and Lucien couldn't actually see them. He could, however, sense them. This likely meant they were under the same spell as he was.

Either case, knowing this Lucien gave nothing to indicate he knew he was being followed. He continued without falter as if nothing happened, until he entered the abandoned house where the Sanctuary kept its mysteries. Let _the chase end here-_

The shadow followed, stopping just inside the door to pause. The magic shrouding his form spilled away, revealing a well dressed noble in green brocade vest with silk undershirt. The Imperial brushed aside shoulder length hair from his eyes before he smiled as if he'd just come home. "Come out come out, where ever you are."

The voice was badly broken, damaged in fact at the attempt at the sing-song tune. The intruder appeared too confident, and altogether too sure of himself upon entering the house. Lucien felt it pertinent to exchange words before killing him.

"You trespass." He warned, revealing himself with a poisoned dagger.

The intruder didn't even flinch. "Is that any way to welcome an old friend, Lucien?"

Lucien prided himself on self control, able to maintain a visage of indifference in nearly any situation. He was a stoic man, unemotional, and a rock of unmoving sentiment. Called by his first name, and with such familiarity left him gaping. "Who are you?"

The Imperial stepped closer, letting the Guild Speaker get a better look at him. This startled him even more. "Nekros…." He breathed, unable to believe the man was before him. "I thought you were dead?"

"I am." Nekros chuckled, releasing the illusion of being human to his true form. The hazel eyes turned yellow-gold, the fair complexion turned grey white in pallor. "But you knew that."

Lucien lowered the weapon. Nekros' well founded reputation would hardly be effected by a dagger. "It has been a long time…"

"Indeed." Nekros responded, never letting go of his friendly manner. "But I haven't come here to look up old friends." The smile suddenly disappeared. "I'm here to warn you to stay away from the Dark elf."

This was….unexpected. If nothing else, Nekros had always been a man of unpredictability. Tension grew thick between them. "Stay away? The Brotherhood has found him to have great potential. I believe this should be his decision. He certainly appeared interested." This new recruit had so much potential. It had been a long time since their pocket of assassins had welcomed a Dark Elf amid their ranks. This one would prove worthwhile, so the Dark Mother promised.

"You _will_ leave him alone." Nekros remained incredibly calm.

Lucien's gaze narrowed, suspicious. He had no reason to listen to these warnings, despite Nekros' reputation. If the Dark Mother wanted the elf, she would have him. Nekros should know this. It was pointless to even debate upon the subject. Instead, he decided to change topics. "I've always wondered why you left us."

"You mean you wonder why the Night Mother allowed me to leave." Nekros bared teeth this time when he smiled. "Perhaps she knew I would serve her better on my own than within the guild?"

"Stories of your exploits traveled far." The Speaker commented, sheathing his blade within the folds of his robe. "It would seem you have indeed served the Night Mother in your own way, but I've heard you finally met your match in the Imperial City…"

"A setback." He corrected with a shrug. "Nothing more."

"Vicente is here." Lucien watched him carefully, pleased to see the sudden stiffness of posture. The use of words to unsettle one's opponent was a favorite ploy of his. "Would you speak with him?"

The vampire paused for a long time, considering. "Yes." He finally answered. "It has been too long since I've met with my sire."

----

Dalvyn stared at the black dagger the assassin had given him. He had, of course, heard rumors of the Dark Brotherhood; often wondering if he had already joined their ranks before the memory loss. Eldwin had verified he'd been trained as an assassin at one time, yet never joined. Perhaps meeting this Speaker of the Brotherhood was a sign..? He didn't however give any information of his having been one of them before.

Strange…

The dagger, Lachance had explained, was new and un-bloodied. The ebony metal was as dark as the reputation of the guild that wielded it. His initiation would entail his finding a man in some misbegotten inn and use this weapon to kill him. Only then, would he be able to join them.

Dalvyn had been surprised they knew of his murdering someone. He still wasn't certain who his victim had been, but he had killed a number of people since he left prison. His rages tended to get out of hand. Was he to blame if some fool came too close? Perhaps the assassin presumed he had killed to get into prison, which according to Eldwin was a lie. It didn't matter. They made the offer to him, one he found himself considering.

He tucked the dagger in his pack, and ate a few more bites of his cold supper. The bundle the vampire showed him earlier sat unattended near the supplies. He chewed slowly, tasting nothing. His attention too often pulled back to the ring.

_The Moon and Star…_

Curious, he unwrapped the silver and gold bauble, admiring the promise of magic and more importantly, the return of lost memories. I might remember everything about myself, he thought to himself, but there's the chance it might also kill me.

The past few weeks taught him over and over, unerringly revealing that 'destiny' found him to be nothing more than a toy on this game board called Tamriel. Service to others only led to more quests. While one completed, another would be asked of him. _And for what? Have they offered me riches, or power? Has a single one of them even offered to help me in finding who I am?_

Dalvyn wasn't prepared to wait for Destiny to decide for him. He slipped the ring on his finger…

---

"It has been a long time, Nekros." Vicente Valtieri remained unruffled upon seeing his protégé'. He wore the usual somber blacks, garbed in a simple dark tunic with matching pants. Hair the color of shadow was kept bound from his face, kept in a simple ponytail at the nape of his neck. The grim hue of his undead skin had grown faded like parchment read too many times. The thin-lipped mouth smiled, revealing pointed teeth. The eyes continued their steady glow of undead fire. "But it is good to see you again."

Nekros found his words rang true. Old emotion warred against his purpose for coming here. He wasn't sure what he expected in his sire, but Vicente had obviously grown more powerful. The presence of the man permeated the room he'd chosen for his own. The same calm indifference the man projected decades ago seemed tenfold in light of the situation. Rarely did the vampire react with anything but a soft smile and almost gentle demeanor.

"I see you've moved up in rank." Nekros commented, looking at the drab interior of the Sanctuary. The underground rooms were their hideout, harboring a training room, places to sleep, and storage space for members. Somehow living the life of a rat didn't appeal to Eldwin, or to his sense of wanting more from life.

"Always you miss the point of the Sanctuary." Vicente smiled ruefully.

To this Nekros shrugged, "Oh I understand the need for privacy, but you've been among the Faithful for a long time, Vicente. And what do you get for it? You get a dark hole to call home. To what heights have you've risen?"

"I'm Executioner, if you must know." He replied, motioning for him to sit with him "I have family here. What more do I need?"

It was an old argument between them. One, Nekros understood he had no answers for. Neither budged on their stance of what they expected from the Brotherhood. "Yes… family. A new one I see."

To this his mentor sat back in the chair. Hands folded in his lap. "A family that would welcome you."

Nekros hid his surprise at the offer. "Well, we both know what I do to families, so I think it best I remain outside your little circle."

The brows tightened. "Nekros, is that regret I hear in your voice?"

Regret? Had he ever felt such a thing? He didn't like to think so. "Regret in leaving the Brother, or for slaughtering my family? You know me better than that, Vicente."

The vampire smiled. "I remember the night we met, after you razed your family's estate to the ground. You didn't shed a tear. The night of the Cleansing, however…Well, you seemed to have regret for having killed everyone in the sanctuary."

Again, Nekros shrugged, trying to ignore the sudden memory of his past, of the sanctuary in Skingrad he had lived most of his younger years in. Perhaps he wanted to also ignore of his sire's persistent hold on the truth. "Perhaps regret for not having killed you as well." He spoke directly, hoping the words to prove once and for all he had no heart.

"The Ritual of Cleansing can take its toll on even the most hardened of criminals, Nekros. And by sparing me, you showed you still clung to your sense of individualism, and not dedication to the Dark Mother." Vicente blinked slowly, the golden eyes flashing orange in the dim light. "We were left wondering what was in your heart that night, and why you let me live. It would seem, the Dark Mother knew what was in your heart for you still live. But I wonder, was it mercy?"

"Mercy?" Nekros spat in sudden disgust. "Do you think I spared your life out of mercy?"

This was obviously a thought the vampire had considered. Nekros recalled that fateful night, having said nothing to anyone before disappearing and never to return. The truth was his own uncertainty of killing the only thing in his life who had cared for him, if that were possible. He was never sure of the vampire's own views of the much younger Imperial he'd taken under his wing. Vicente was not a creature of conversation. But he never spoke harshly, nor raised his hand to hurt anyone; something Nekros' blood kin had so often had.

"Then why?" Vicente asked.

"I thought killing you might also kill me." This was a lie, of course. Even back then, Nekros knew the ramifications of his actions. A lie was safer, however, than facing the truth. "You were, after all, the one who turned me into what I am."

"Forgive me." Vicente smiled in his ever-so-smug way. "I thought you may have held some affection for me. Either case, the Night Mother revealed to us that you served your purpose. She would welcome you again into her dark embrace."

"That's not why I came here." Nekros told him, refusing to believe returning to the Brotherhood would be that easy. But it was; had always been that simple. He knew back then he could be accepted back. He completed the ritual, and even sparring Vicente wouldn't be enough to exile him forever. He decided to change subjects. "I've told Lucien to stay away from Dalvyn."

Vicente's smile weakened. "And why is that?"

"He has another destiny."

"According to Lucien, he has great potential. Why deny him a place among us?"

"He is serving the heir of Tamriel." Nekros told him, "To stop this Oblivion nonsense. And he is …more than he appears."

"Without question. We see his potential." Vicente waved his hand. "But again I ask, why deny him a place with us. Even if what you say is true, he can still save the world."

"As an assassin?" Nekros chuckled. "I won't have him distracted by you."

To this the vampire actually laughed, which was a rare occasion. "Ah Nekros, I know you too well. You are jealous and afraid that he might actually accept our offer. So you like this Dunmer, do you?"

"He is mine." Nekros snarled a warning.

Again his sire chuckled in light of his threat. "Retract your claws, Nekros. Have no fear; I will respect your wish to leave the Dunmer alone. But why is it I sense he doesn't reciprocate _your_ affection?"

He is trying to goad me. "Things are more complicated than that." He muttered, wanting to leave.

Vicente reached out, his chilled hand touching his own. "Wait, Nekros. There is something else. There is something else you came for, other than your Dark Elf friend?"

Nekros frowned. Only at this moment, he realized it was true._ How does he know? _His sire had in the past always sensed his thoughts. At the time, Nekros gave little thought upon it; assuming the leader of their Brotherhood read people very well. Now it seemed more, perhaps a gift or magic he used. Nekros wanted to know more about this strange bond that had developed upon his attempt to change Saber. Perhaps Vicente knew how to break it, or could tell him more about how to change Saber back?

Sitting back down on the chair, he felt a bit unnerved. He always did in Vicente's presence. "I tried to change him." He explained, cautiously telling the sordid tale of the strange bond that was built between him and the Incarnate. Not unexpectedly, Vicente remained quiet, still as death while the story unfolded. Now and then he would nod, encouraging him to continue. When Nekros finished, he waited.

"It's common when one gives the Dark Gift that a bond forms." Vicente told him, "Not always one of emotion but that of spirit. What you tell me is exceptional, however. I have no answers for you."

"But you know me so well, as if you know my thoughts." He was perhaps the only being the world that knew Nekros for what he was and even is. There was a time; Vicente Valtieri was the only thing he understood as a father figure.

"I have no special power, if that is what you're asking." He shifted forward, yellow-gold eyes boring into his own. "I know you because you let me. As for this bond, to break it may require a great sacrifice on your part."

Nekros paused, tapping fingers against the wood of the table. "My death?" This was something Saber had often threatened of him. On rare occasion, a fleeting thought also would arise before being squelched. There was a time, he'd never consider such a thing, but now…

His sire clasped a chilled hand to still the nervous tapping. "Or find a cure."

"Cure?" He had heard in Morrowind the possibility of being cured of vampirism. Was there such a thing here in Cyrodil? "This would break the bond you think?"

"But you must know that once cured, you can never again receive the Dark Gift." The aged vampire clenched his fist, showing his power and strength. "To become human again means you will age, and you will die."

The ramifications were overwhelming. Saber would live forever. He had been cured of Corpus that not only solidified his being the Incarnate in the prophecies, but also gave him eternal life. He would never get sick, nor would he age. Saber could, however, die by fire, drowning, or blade. Otherwise, he would remain as he always had.

_Except he would carry this dark soul._ Saber had become in essence nothing but a shade of himself. The fun loving Dunmer had transformed into someone who was heartless and almost cruel. Briefly Nekros toyed with the idea of letting the elf endure his fate. Something deep inside him, no doubt this cursed sense of right and wrong, prompted him to at least consider taking this path. Could I live like this?

"If I decided to become human, how would I do this?" He asked.

A cloud of sorrow shaded Vicente's smile now. "Go to Skingrad. Speak to Count Hassildor."


	17. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Finding the home of the Mythic Dawn spy was a pathetically easy task in the city of Bruma. Add to the fact, the likelihood she would need to kill the second spy served only to make this less than fulfilling to an adventure's soul. She preferred something that would require thought and skill, and less merciless killing. This seemed a job the Fighter's Guild might be better at doing, without carrying the guilt that goes with it.

She knocked on the door to the tiny house, rapping knuckles smartly against the rough wood. It was curious to find there was no reply. Although the owner was now dead, rumor had it she had a guest. Captain Burd told her she had free rein to investigate, so using the key found on the Jearl woman, Eiryn entered.

"Who are you?" A Dunmer woman demanded angrily. She had been sitting at the table set in the middle of the small room, with only a bare shelf to one side of the room, and a single bed and dresser drawers to the other. Eiryn guessed she wasn't in any mood to receive guests, being she hadn't answered the knock.

"I'm the woman who discovered that Jearl is a Mythic Dawn spy." She challenged her. Experience had taught her to take the aggressive with spies and others likely to fight than talk. "Know anything about that?"

The dark elf woman glared in anger. She raised her hand to cast her spell of conjuration. _Ah, it figures she is a woman who prefers to fight then..._ Eiryn didn't wait this time to see the cloth and armor materialize. She simply attacked. So much for adventure-

Whatever guilt she might have felt for the woman's death disappeared with the first engagement. These Mythic Dawn cultists were cowards, hiding and plotting among their friends. They gave their souls to these Daedra lords, and would give up their families and friends as well. The crazed white rimmed eyes glaring back at her also fueled the need to end this fight quickly.

The expression twisted from a face of pure anger to one of surprise as Eiryn's sword plunged into her stomach. In seconds, the fight was over. Whatever magic she started to invoke disappeared in a puff. "I go to Paradise…" The woman gasped out before dying.

Paradise? Eiryn wasn't familiar with their beliefs. She'd have to ask Martin more about that. For now, however, she had to explore the house and find out what their orders had been

-------

Something was wrong. Nekros felt it deep in his bones. The sensation of displacement prompted him to abruptly end his visit at the Sanctuary. Not that he wanted to stay.There wasn't much to say after hearing Vicente spoke of a possible cure.He knew where to find him if he had more questions, with an open invitation. Too distracted by this new information, Nekros hadn't even said goodbye.

_To become human once again…?_

_Was this the cause of his agitation? _

Hunger gnawed from the inside; reminding him he'd need to feed soon. This too could have provoked this unbalance. Yes, that was more of what he felt; a strong sense of distortion, though rarely did wanting to feed produced this sort of reaction. Perhaps being close to Saber once more was the cause. Either case, he'd still need to feed soon. Hadn't he seen a beggar roaming aimlessly about earlier today? He could wait a bit longer, and then hunt after dark.

Entering the room, the vampire's thoughts were still on the subject of going to Skingrad. He froze upon seeing the bed empty. Covers was disheveled, and no sign of the elf could be found. Their things were still in the room, indicating Saber hadn't left for Bruma without him. His attention soon fell to the unwrapped bundle of cloth he'd used to keep the ring of the Moon and Star.

"No!" In the time to draw in a breath, he knew the elf must have put the ring on! _That fool_! He must know the risks! There was no sign of the Incarnate.

Steel hissed through the air before stopped abruptly to his throat, prodding just enough to reveal that Saber had been hidden behind the door. The steely edge now rested menacingly close to the old wound as if threatened to finish the job. Now with blade in hand, Saber stood with a look of a low simmering anger.

"I can see why you wouldn't want me to remember." Saber growled low. "But I have to wonder what sort of scheme is running through your mind now?"

"Scheme?" _Dear Gods, he remembers! _Whatever joy he found in seeing the elf alive and whole, soon dissipated into self preservation. _He remembers me. This cant' be good._

"Nekros does nothing without having something in it for himself. So what is it this time that has you come all the way from Morrowind to seek me out?" Saber moved closer, firmly keeping his weapon to Nekros' throat.

Eldwin felt insulted. "All this trouble was to find you, you ingrate." He spoke through tight lips. "I was the only one who knew you were even alive!"

Saber's head tilted, his face leaning close enough to where Nekros could feel the light breath against his cheek. "And how many did you tell about my where my whereabouts? Hm? So concerned for my well being, were you? I see you came alone."

"Eiryn came with me, and she knows. I didn't lie about that. She's in Bruma." Why was it that only now the elf decides to get so close? It just wasn't fair. "As for others; I doubt they would take my word. Would you have preferred I explain to them how I knew, about our bond?"

"Oh yes. The bond." Saber's wine red eyes narrowed dangerously. "But you see, it wouldn't matter to anyone how I have the bond. I don't leech off life to keep myself alive. You, on the other hand, may face the retribution of the Temple." He acted as if he'd rather enjoy seeing his old master set aflame for being a vampire. In Morrowind, they had little tolerance for the undead.

Nekros drew in a breath to hold back words that might bring this sword to take off his head. One must be careful with what one says with a razor's edge to one's throat. Saber had grown powerful over the years, in fighting as well as magic. "I have spared your life a number of times." He pointed out.

Saber's chuckle was a bit too menacing for his tastes. The blade pressed against his neck, causing a bit of pain. "Are you asking me to spare your life?"

For a brief moment, Nekros wondered if Saber wanted him to beg in some twisted sense of revenge. He was certainly enjoying having the upper hand. He had hoped Saber would look beyond his past sins, to find some place in his heart for his former master. Hadn't he forgiven the Dunmer's first attempt at killing _him?_

But why would he, after all I've done to him? I've tortured him, tried to force him to become a vampire, and even let him believe I killed his friends. Do-gooder or not, many would argue he deserved to die.

An unwelcome thought pervaded his fears now. _What was it that Vicente said? That my death could return Saber to the person he was before?_ _What a strange coincidence that I may very well find out this night if his theory is correct._ Deep inside he warred against wanting to live, to wanting Saber returned to the easy going Dunmer he'd come to be not so very long ago.

"Now what?" Nekros snarled in a low voice, fuming at his situation.

Saber stood for a long moment, the unwavering glare contemplating before finally sheathing his sword once again. "I'm going to Bruma." He announced, "What you do is your business, as long as it's away from me. Come near me again, and I _will_ kill you. That I promise."

Much to his annoyance, Nekros felt a pang of strong emotion pinch in his chest. _Sorrow? Hurt? What had I expected, his gratitude?_ No, he realized, he had hoped for a few days with him without the burden of the past on him. "The emperor could use all the help he can get."

"You?" The Dunmer scoffed, tightening his belt and fastenings of the leather cuirass. The irony was thick in his voice. "_Nekros_ as hero and savior? I think not. He has the Incarnate now, not some blood-sucking parasite that would just as likely stab him in the back."

Words stung, adding salt to old wounds. "And if the emperor wants my help?"

To this, Saber shot a violent warning scowl. "Does the emperor understand who you are? Does he understand that here stands Nekros, assassin and butcher of the Imperial City? Did you mention to him that you slaughtered in cold blood, and how much you enjoyed hearing your victims scream?"

Turning away, Nekros felt defeated, knowing Saber was right. Even with the Oblivion crisis, no one would trust a vampire. And why should this even matter, why even care, he chided himself. Isn't this the choice he made a lifetime ago? Hadn't he made the choice to turn his back on humanity? He resolved himself to this, hadn't he?

Carrying this burden of conscience furthered this damnable existence. The weight of scruples grew heavier as his former apprentice draped the cloak across his shoulders. He'd found the Manos blade Nekros among their packs, which the vampire had dutifully carried for him. The Dunmer traced a finger along its keen edge in appreciation of the sharpness. It was a splendid blade, forged from the finest metals, crafted by one of the finest sword smiths in the known world. Enchanted with a spell to entrap the souls upon strike, the curving sword held more legend than the Keening blade Saber had wielded against a god not so long ago.

Saber deliberately nicked his thumb on the drawn blade. Blood welled and he touched the wound to his tongue. Nekros found his own mouth watering for a taste, unequivocally feeling hunger once again. It was a subtle act in reminding the vampire of his nature, or perhaps, Nekros considered silently, the Nerevarine's dark soul was too close to that same nature of his own.

"I'll spare your miserable life this time, only in return for saving mine. We are even. We cross paths again, and I _will_ kill you." He sheathed the Manos sword in a single fluid motion, snapping the hilt in finality. Without another word, the elf turned and left leaving silence in his wake.

Nekros never felt a room so cold and empty.

---------

A scroll discovered in Jearl's basement confirmed Eiryn's suspicions. They were indeed spies, given the task to find a means into the Temple, its escape routes, and more importantly a promise to open something called a Great Gate outside of Bruma. This does not bode well, she thought. Stories of the fall of Kvatch had said something similar had happened.

Standing before Brother Jauffre, she watched his expression turn dark and troubled. After all, the orders were for the ultimate death of the emperor, and likely everyone else of the city of Bruma. The danger was imminent.

"I'm afraid we haven't eliminated the threat against Bruma and Cloud Ruler Temple, only delayed it." He said, clenching the parchment with fists of frustration. "I must warn the Countess of the danger immediately." The elderly Blade forced a hopeful smile. "You should speak to Martin. He will be glad to see your return. And we have new arrivals you should welcome."

New arrivals? She blinked. "Who-?"

"Eiryn!" A familiar voice called from the temple's entrance, with the thick wooden doors already swung open to reveal an aging man in worn steel. Long white hair blew back from his a creased, but nonetheless handsome face. The dark brows hooded the gray eyes, now squinting with a smile as bright as the sun.

"Merthisan!" Hope flared so suddenly her chest clenched. In three short steps she was drawn up in a fierce bear hug of the swordmaster she had come to know as a dear friend. "You've come!"

Another squeeze nearly cut off her words as the large man growled playfully in agreement. "Aye girl. I came as soon as your letter reached me."

_Everything will be alright now._ The tension and despair she hadn't been able to shake in the past month finally lessoned its hold. Here was the greatest swordsman, and more. He would make things right. "We have much to catch up on!"

"Indeed, but look here-" His arm swept back to the way he came to indicate another figure standing back to wait his own turn for greetings. _Caius Cosades…._

Father…

He hadn't changed much in the past few years she last saw him. White hair had always been cropped short to the point of being bald. Thin lips curled in a tentative smile, and his gaze glowed in pride back at her. He wore simple furred armor, unused to the cold of the Jerell Mountains. His stiff awkwardness was a direct contrast to the friendlier swordmaster. "Eiryn, you look great."

"Caius…" She found this time the hug was gentle, unassuming. She wanted desperately to call him father, but feared the rules remained the same as they did when he headed the guild in Morrowind. Secrecy had been paramount to protect them both from enemies of the Blades. Now, however, things were different. They were both Blades housed at Cloud Temple, with the rest of the guild. "Father…"

His hug tightened slightly at the whisper, and his chest rumbled with a low laught. "Let's get inside before these old bones freeze!" He pulled back to lead them back into the warmth of the main hall. "Jauffre has brought us up to date with this Oblivion crisis."

Merthisan took a seat closer to the fire. Hands clasped to rub fingers to boost circulation. "But he didn't say much of Saber or how he managed to get into the thick of this mess. Where is our reluctant hero?"

Eiryn felt the dark cloud shade her joy. This was bad news for them, and she wasn't sure how they would take it. Settling near the open hearth, she blew out tension that sounded a bit more forlorn that she wanted. "That's a rather long story." She told him grimly.

"Well give me some mead and tell me everything."

The young Breton smiled, strengthened with their presence.

Everything will be alright now…

------

"_Fusozay Var Dar"_ was an old Khajiit saying, Saber heard once. It meant "Kill without qualm". He thought upon these words as his horse road northward to the city of Bruma. They kept a slow pace, allowing him to remain ever vigilant against any gates that might open, as well as bandits and other threats that might arise.

_Kill without qualm._ In other words; without doubt or guilt. This is something the Dunmer had little left in the way of worry. Guilt was nothing more than a faded memory, and killing became second nature to him. Wasn't this what Nekros had so often told him as a boy that he'd grow up to be? Ironic that now his warnings seem to be bearing fruition.

_What possible reason do I have in letting him live?_ For the amount of time it took a breath, he had decided to spare the vampire, and now regret was thick in his throat. _Why hadn't I ended his miserable undead life and freed the world of his existence?_

He could only assume it was out of some misplaced gratitude for having saved him. And yet, I owe him nothing, Saber thought darkly. Through the years, they both had come to combative engagement more than once, each trying to end the other and yet never having the courage to take that final blow. Nekros' reasons to continually plague his life held tenuous threads of possessiveness, perhaps a shadow of caring the vampire had for him. As much as Saber hated to admit that truth, he came to realize the assassin had come to look upon him as a son.

"I should've killed him." He muttered. The horse's ears flicked back to him, as if wanting to hear more. One might think a hero would hold some gratitude in the vampire having saved his life. In truth, Nekros had saved him twice. The first was coming to Cyrodil to rescue him, but the second was literally pulling him from the threat of death by the cultists.

_And could I live with killing him still?_ There was a time, he wasn't so sure. The first time he thought he had killed his master, Saber had felt lost and the burden of remorse was so real it was almost a physical pain. Years and friends helped heal the hurt he never let show. Now, however, Saber felt a suffocating cloud of callousness upon him, and knew he could sleep well each night no matter who he killed. _Yes, I should've killed him._

Since the fateful moment beneath Kogoruhn, where Nekros had drank his blood in his attempt at transforming him into his kind, something dark entered his soul. It festered and grew over the years, warring against his sense of balance.

Although not having the want for drinking blood, Saber felt too often the sweet promise of elation each time he drove a sword through flesh and bone. Thirsting for blood, or just plain bloodthirsty, didn't seem to be very different from one another now.

His attention was drawn once more to the ring on his hand. The familiar sense of magic was comforting, albeit faint like a whisper compared to when he first slipped the Moon and Star on his hand. The vision of Azura, a Daedric Lord, was of a Dunmer woman with a voice like thunder. She had told him his path, and a sense of belonging was overpowering. Her words and vision drowned him in a sense of finality. For the first time in his life, he had a sense of purpose; to save Morrowind. More importantly, he knew who he was; The Incarnate, Nerevar reborn.

A hero….

Saber scowled. I'm no hero. Wasn't this what he had so often professed? He denied the title at every turn. He never wanted to be a hero, never wanted the titles or undulation of admirers he acquired after the quests. Only now did he realize that before he had indeed been a hero to many. Now he was some merciless killer playing at the role.

His thirst for blood had also expanded to a sudden want for power. The knowing that he could've killed Vivec in Morrowind, even King Helseth himself and anyone else that stood in his way, was dizzying. I could've ruled the entire land of Morrowind without much effort. I have killed gods…. Dagoth Ur and Almalexia… Vivec would be a challenge, but the others would be nothing once I had Keening and Sunder…

I could rule Tamriel.

Even now… The death of the emperor would be such a small thing. He was, after all, a simple man. Saber had seen him fight, which was adequate for defense against an untrained bandit, but hardly in comparison to the Incarnate.

Saber shoved the thought forcibly away from him, not quite ready to take the step across that line towards treason. Self preservation might be more the cause of dismissing this thought. Martin was essential to ending the Oblivion crisis. Without him, the land would turn into a horrible place overrun with Daedra. _Which is hardly worth ruling_, the elf considered. His tattered sense of humanity fluttered like a candle in a storm, flaring just enough to remind him where he was going and who he was going to.

Eiryn…

Remembering her fanned the remnants of compassion to a warm glow, lightening the bitter cruelty further away. Her touch, a light brush of lips against his own, a cool palm against his cheek, even the quick flash of her warm smile was always enough to keep his darkness at bay. Months had passed, however. He wondered if she would be enough, and although not wanting to admit it; did he even want her to?

Eiryn had found him years ago in the city of Suran. He had abandoned the quest given to him by the Emperor Uriel Septim, to take the role of Nerevarine. At the time, Saber felt the whole prospect of releasing a former thief to play hero was a madman's folly. The adventurous scout, he found, showed him that there was a possibility to achieve this goal. He had, she argued, all the help from the Blades' guild, and she voiced her own opinion he might be able to succeed where others had failed. More likely it was the breathless night she gave him, that convinced Saber to at least see what Fate had in store for him.

Saber never had doubts with her; knowing her loyalty and dedication was as clear as crystal and bound to him. Whether chiding him for something stupid he had done, or speaking to him on no uncertain terms of the 'right thing to do', Eiryn was the rudder to help guide him home.

Home…

Strangely home never meant the estate to which he had established for them. Neither did it even mean Morrowind. Home to him had always been Eiryn, in her arms or where he could see her smile.

Kicking the horse's flanks, he urged the horse into a faster trot. If they hurried, he could reach Bruma by morning.

-----

Nekros paused at the gate of the horse's paddock, stewing in silent annoyance upon finding Saber had taken his horse. Not that he was fond of the animal, or even the horse cost all that much in coin. Hell, he didn't even care that Saber needed the horse to get to Bruma in a timely fashion. It was the principle of the thing. The subtle insult added to injury, and the vampire wondered if perhaps he should just walk instead. The Cheydinhal stables sold the fastest mounts in Cyrodil, the Cheydinhal Blacks. Some argued they were worth the exuberant amount of coin, while others preferred the Anvil Whites.

He glanced skyward, glad for the cloudy weather threatening rain. Direct sunlight always made him nervous, even with the number of magical rings he kept on hand. He had all afternoon to ride towards Skingrad. Even with that in mind, he still might find a cave on the way to rest before finding the count. He made a gruff sigh considering options when he realized someone had walked up to him.

"Excuse me…?" A woman's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Are you the one traveling with Dalvyn Sarethi?"

The name jarred his focus and curiosity directly towards the woman, leaving him in a moment of confusion.

The Dunmer woman was young, even by elven standards though Nekros had no idea to tell exactly how young. She was barely into adulthood, that much was for certain. The slim, athletic frame was dressed in light armor comprising mostly of leather but glinting of the lighter metals of Mithril and Glass. Even the sword at her hip was that of Elven design. This indicated she may have found the pieces either on adventures or she came from a rich family. The long black hair was tied back in a ponytail, with bangs falling over a pair of deep Comberry wine…

_By the gods…she looks just like him!_

Yes, the set of the slim jaw, the curve of the brow and particularly the shape of the mouth were exactly that of Saber. Even the steely gray of her skin was the same. She was more delicate, the features softer, but nevertheless carried her fame with the same dancer's grace and strength as the Nerevarine.

"What…?" Nekros wasn't sure what she had just asked him.

"Dalvyn Sarethi." She repeated, "I'm looking for him."

"For what purpose?" Nekros asked, unable to stop staring at her.

"I believe he is my brother." The woman told him plainly.

_Note: There's a lot happening in this chapter, which will lead to more twists and turns to the plot. I'm sorry for updates coming slower. I had my computer crash but thankfully had things backed up. I still had to take the time to reinstall a number of things, not to mention work keeps interfering with my hobbies. Lol _


	18. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Nekros had to forcibly shut his mouth to prevent himself from gaping at the young woman. He couldn't decide what shocked him more; her claim to a kinship to the Nerevarine or the fact she so obviously looked the part. "Did you just say you believe that Dalvyn is your _brother_?"

The woman lifted a defiant chin at his tone. "_Do_ you know of his whereabouts?"

Intrigued now, Nekros leaned against the fence to listen. Saber would want to know about her. He'd spent a good part of his life wondering of his origins, if he had family, and why he was alone on the streets as a boy. He could find no answers. There was nowhere to even start looking.

Now this woman, who so obviously looked like Saber, might lead to some resolution, to a semblance of real family. The old sense of having power in a situation was oddly cathartic in light of Saber's abrupt departure from his life, and curiosity was nearly overwhelming.

"I might." He offered.

Eyes narrowed as her defenses flared. She was, the vampire considered, very attractive when annoyed. In fact, she looked very much like Saber when he was angry. Her dark look was barely contained beneath a sense of control unusual in one so young. Perhaps he misjudged her age after all. "Would coin loosen your tongue?"

His gaze dropped to the smooth column of her throat, enjoying the soft texture of velvet flesh. The lightest pulse beat out a rhythm of life. _If Saber were her brother, perhaps she'd taste as sweet_. A smile played on his mouth at the thought. Being he was on his way to find a cure for vampirism, it seemed incongruous he make use of his stealth and charms now before finding himself mortal once more.

"A drink perhaps might help." She scowls so prettily, he thought regarding the woman change her stance as of someone ready to deliberate.

Her tone became biting. "But if he's already left, I will need to go now to catch up with him-"

"He's left, early this morning." Nekros cut her off, turning back to look once again to horses he might purchase after all. "If you knew his destination, you could see him within a day or two. If not, well then, I would imagine it might take weeks."

Her body shifted uneasily, clearly wanting to demand answers yet having nothing to stand on. She had little in the way of choices, he knew. He was the only one who where Saber was heading, and though she might eventually catch up to him if she asked enough people that would take time. It might even take months to find him. "One drink and you'll tell me?"

The vampire couldn't help but smile. It wasn't wine he was asking from her. He wondered how far she was willing to go to get this information. Would she even let him take a nip? Her manner indicated a level of desperation, hinting of a long quest filled with querying and questioning strangers to find a lost brother. He supposed it couldn't hurt to try. He motioned for her to follow him.

Nekros looked about being sure there were no guards in case she screamed. He had no intention of killing her, but there was no point in alerting the local militia to his being one of the undead. Even then, he could escape before they could catch him, but his survival had always incorporated a sense of preparedness.

Her willingness to follow surprised him, also revealing she must be young, inexperienced, or lacking common sense. Playing upon her naivety left a whisper of guilt, but he reasoned that she might learn something from this. She'd be more careful in the future, that much was certain.

She followed him to the farther wall north of the gates. There no one would witness a brief struggle and the guards along the high wall could do nothing but shout a warning before Nekros simply made his get away to the woodlands.

"I thought you said you wanted a drink." The woman said, looking at the shaded lee of the city wall. She turned slightly to look the way they came, and Nekros couldn't believe the ease of opportunity.

Nekros stepped close behind, snaking one arm to pin her body against his, while the other clamped over her mouth. "I do want a drink-"

Immediately, and expectedly the girl writhed like a demon. A scream muffled beneath his hand, while her sword arm managed to grip the pommel of the sword at her hip. His strength alone prevented her from being able to pull it from the scabbard. A brief resistance ensued, but to his satisfaction, she soon realized fighting or the hope of escape was futile.

Panting from her exertion, she gave a small whimper of defeat. Her body remained tense, ready for flight if she could. Nekros spoke softly against her ear, "Do not scream." He warned her, as slowly removed his grip from her mouth. "I have no intention of killing you, but I will if I have to."

"What? What do you want, then?" She gasped out the words, breathless from trying to get away. The athletic body was stiff as a board just in case his grip lessened even the littlest bit.

"You promised me a drink." Nekros murmured, surprised at his own self control that he hadn't sank teeth into her yet. He wanted her willing, he supposed. Damn these scruples. The desire to simply take her was like a heady drug. His mouth practically watered in anticipation of feeding

"No!" Her voice grew in intensity as did her struggling and Nekros once more shut her up with his hand.

"Let us have an understanding, my dear." He reasoned, keeping an iron grip on her squirming. "You want that information, I need to feed. If you refuse; no harm done. I will leave. Your choice. But scream and I will kill you."

To this she stopped moving, confused at his offer. When he removed his hand once more, she turned to look at him with a sharp ruby stare.

"I say no and you'll just leave? Just like that?" Obviously she didn't trust him. _Perhaps this is a family trait then_, Nekros thought to himself.

"By the time you'd warn guards, I'll be gone. I was leaving anyway."

"And as long as I don't scream, you're not going to kill me?"

Her tone and manner had settled, so taking a risk, Nekros released her. At least now she was listening to his offer. He rather enjoyed this little game. "I only need a sip."

The woman remained where she was, perhaps understanding that running would prove fatal or perhaps that he was giving her a fair trade. She also hadn't drawn her sword. This was promising.

"But a bite can make a vamp-"

"A simple cure disease potion or a visit to the chapel can prevent that." He told her, wiping the front of his shirt to smooth wrinkles from their wrestling.

"And afterwards…you'll tell me where he went?" She asked.

_She is considering?_ He was even more captivated with the girl with each passing moment. "And tell me why you're looking for him as well."

The girl looked away, obviously having some inner dialogue with the choice presented to her. A pink tongue flicked out over lips gone dry. "I need to find him.." This time when she spoke, the words didn't seem as though they were meant to be heard. Her attention fell back to him, "And that's it? A sip and you'll tell me?"

Nekros pretended to tire of their dialogue. "Its not asking all that much, but if you prefer…" Leaving his sentenced deliberately unfinished, he headed back towards the stables.

"No…wait!" This time she actually reached out to tug his arm. The touch was almost electric. Nekros paused, looking down at the finely boned hand snatching away from the contact. "Alright. I suppose I don't have much choice."

The vampire tilted his head slightly. "Of course you have a choice, my dear. A simple no is all it takes-"

"I need to find him!" Her voice rose in pitch, a desperate plea for help.

"Very well." He motioned towards the wall of the city, for privacy.

By the rapid beat of her heart, Nekros could tell she was scared, and not altogether sure she made the right choice. _But brave, I will give her that_. The girl resigned herself, and let him take the lead, even tilting her head slightly so his mouth could trail lightly over skin.

Although a bit taller than she, the vampire found their height difference perfect for easy access. To his delight, the girl actually shivered at the touch. Perhaps a shudder, he considered to himself. Either way, her reaction was titillating. Open palms held up against his chest pushed ever so lightly at him as if by instinct. "It won't hurt…" Nekros whispered.

With a quick definitive nip, fangs sank into her neck. Her body jerked, fighting the urge to fight or flee. A light cry escaped her throat. Once he began to drink, however, the pleasing sound of her gasping breath, her body relaxing, matched the lovely beat of her heart. It had been a long time since he had taken someone like this, without a struggle that is. Too often he simply took what he wanted, often having to kill his victims after. There was pleasure with the kill, but he realized there was a level of pleasure in this as well. He'd almost forgotten what it was like to hold the warmth of a body against him, and to simply enjoy in the moment of feeding. After a few moments, Nekros drew away, taking note the light flush at her cheeks. He felt a bit flushed himself.

"See? That didn't hurt much did it?" The bite might have startled her, but he knew the pain was nothing more than a pinch.

Her fingers reached up to touch the tiny puncture wounds, drawing back a few droplets of blood. "And that's it?"

Nekros nodded, touching a finger to his mouth to be sure lips were clean. "Don't forget to visit the chapel, or find a cure disease potion." He gave a light bow, before heading towards the stables once more. While walking, he spoke over his shoulder. "He's going to the city of Bruma."

To Bruma!?" She asked, now dogging his steps. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. And if you don't know where that is; its north. Once there, you can ask around. The guards will know where to find him."

He was surprised to find her continuing to walk with him instead of heading out immediately. "Are you his friend? Do you know much about his past?"

Ah, she needed to know more about this elf she was chasing after to see if he could be her brother and not some wild guar chase. "I don't think finding him is going to give you any answers." He admitted to her.

She stopped short to frown. "Why not?"

"Dalvyn doesn't know where he's from, or who his parents were." Shrugging on his pack left at the stable gate, Nekros checked his coin purse for enough money to buy a horse. "But you do look like him-" Pausing Nekros gave himself a nice long moment to admire the familiarity of her face. "Very much so."

"Is he…you know…" Her gaze fluttered around before finishing. "A vampire too?"

Nekros almost laughed. Of course she'd assume if he traveled with Dalvyn, they both must be creatures of the night. "No," He stifled the laugh threatening to burst out of him, "He is not of my kind." _He is so much more_…_Incarnate…Nerevarine…._

_Or rather, he should be._ Never in all the years he'd known Saber did the elf behave as dangerous as he did that morning. Hardly what one would expect from a hero now was it? This behavior was troubling, too much like Nekros before he carried the burden of a soul, and Nekros wondered how much worse could he get if he continued on this dark and shady path. Would he become a threat to his own friends? Nekros had certainly the lack of emotion as well as the skill to do so, having killed the brotherhood guild members he'd come to know as family. What if Saber now held such darkness within him?

"Could you tell me-"

"No." Nekros interrupted before she went any further. The sobering thought of his mission shoved away any further geniality. Much as he enjoyed the girl's company, he needed to find that cure if he was to set Saber back to the Dunmer he was. "I wouldn't know if he was your relative any more than he does, and I have urgent business of my own to attend to in Skingrad. Now, unless you have some magic or another means to find out, we're done here."

A defiant chin lifted to face him head on. "The road to Skingrad goes several miles the same direction as Bruma. We could travel together until we reach the Red Ring Road."

Stunned by her suggestion, Nekros openly gawked. "Why would you want to travel together?"

"I want to know more about Dalvyn, and I still owe you an explanation of why I'm looking for him." It had been, Nekros thought to himself, only a passing curiosity. He didn't really care why the young woman was seeking Dalvyn because she was hardly a threat of someone of his stature or power. But more intrigued the girl would still want to be around him even knowing he was a vampire left Nekros agreeing. They were traveling the same direction for a while anyway.

His decision was sudden and spur of the moment. He extended his hand as if a dare. "Eldwin." He told her, "Eldwin Phallo."

The smile he found was genuine, the grip firm. "My name is Ferise Indoril"

------

Eiryn felt the air thick with unspoken emotion and questions when she finished telling Merthisan and Caius the story of how she came to Cloud Temple. Both men wore the same tense expression, perhaps undecided if they were more troubled of hearing Nekros had a hand in this or that Saber lost his memory. The swordmaster remained very still as his attention remained lost in his tankard of mead. Meanwhile, Caius turned to look into the embers of the fire of the hearth.

"This is bad news." Caius spoke softly.

"Which part?" Merthisan muttered in sarcasm.

"All of it."

Eiryn rubbed fingers at her forehead, wondering how to explain to them the _other_ news. Then again, she wasn't sure how she was dealing with it herself. _I'm going to have a child… _She fell in morose silence as the two men debated avenues and possible methods in which to find Saber. Nekros had just as much reason, if not more, to find the Incarnate. She knew that Nekros would be able to find him, there was no doubt, but what would he find, and who would he bring back? Would he even bring him back to Cloud Temple?

The healer in Bruma had confirmed what Nekros already told her. She was pregnant by nearly three months. The woman had given her teas to settle her stomach, and suggestions for diet and the usual advice for a mother-to-be. Otherwise, the woman had told her, she could still do whatever she was already accustomed in doing. Eiryn simply hadn't explained that what she did was help the Incarnate fight powerful adversaries let alone help save the world a number of times.

"What are we to do with Nekros?" Merthisan asked them. "If what you say is true, and he seems to have developed a conscience, then are we justified in killing him?"

Caius frowned. "He's a vampire, Master Kendari. He's already outlived a normal life by feeding on others. And let's not forget what he's done to Saber."

Eiryn had to agree. Nekros was responsible for Saber's anger and loss of self. Whatever his intentions are now seemed to have little insight on what they were to do now. She knew however that the vampire may still be a valuable, and powerful asset to their side if she could convince him to stay. Not that he can be trusted, her own thought fought back and forth to the pros and cons.

"I don't think there's much we can decide on until they come back here." She finally told them. "We have to work with what we _do_ know, and that is this threat to Bruma and to the emperor."

"That's true." Merthisan nodded. "For now, that is our main concern."

-----

"By the Nine…not another one." Dalvyn groaned softly to himself. He was really growing to hate the sudden appearance of an oval portal spitting fire and brimstone. Everywhere he seemed to travel they were popping up, unbidden, and promising trouble. Thankfully, there were telltale signs of their appearance. The air grew thick and heavy. The sky above would darken with pink and reds bleeding into the gray. The whole landscape seemed to cringe back from what these gates promised; death and destruction.

Staring up on the hillside to this recent appearance, the elf pressed knees to keep astride his startled mount. The horse sidled, wanting to buck. A quick jerk of the reins forced the animal to remain still as he assessed the gate.

Two creatures emerged from the magical barrier. Stooped over and walking with an odd half-crouch posture, Saber recognized them as Scamps. He'd encounter a number of them back in Morrowind but these were slightly larger. Their misshapen faces had two pointed ears on either side of the bulbous head. Sharp teeth jutted out of a jaw too large, with the nose too pushed up as if sneering in disgust.

Drawing his bow, Saber found the target too easy from this distance. Perhaps he'd shut the gate if this was all they offered in a way of challenge. Sometimes the lands beyond also promised something in the way of loot. Each gate had to be shut by finding a powerful artifact known as a sigil stone. Each of these magical orbs held incredible power.

Power, Saber thought to himself, that I could enchant with.

He dismounted, being sure to gather what supplies he'd need. The horse would run off to the nearest settlement, but he could buy another if enough plunder was beyond this portal.

"Let's hope this is the last I encounter until I reach Bruma…" He muttered.

Entering the gate, Saber found the temperature wrap him in swath of heat. Sweat immediately beaded at his brow and he regretted the leather armor. Unfortunately, he'd need the extra protection. The thick smell of brimstone reminded of his time beneath Red Mountain, where he faced the mad god, Dagoth Ur. But then, he had to carry a heavy war hammer in order to destroy the Hearth of Lorkhan.

Perspiration beaded, forcing him to wipe his brow. "Damn I've forgotten how bad this place smells." _Like rotten eggs._

So far there had a similar lay of the land with each gate, with the same method in which to shut the magical barrier. A path snaked through the rock and lava pools often leading to a tall tower which housed the sigil stone, and getting there demanded he fight a number of the creatures that lived here. Fortunately his skill with the bow made such tasks easier by simply taking it slow and steady, shooting from afar before being detected while engaging the enemy only when necessary.

Upon entering the main tower, three reptilian creatures known as a Clanfear wandered like guard dogs in the main room. Spindly short arms curled against narrow chests with claws sharp as razors matching the equally sharp talons on the bipedal feet. A hook like beak distended from a broad head. A mantle of thick hide formed a bonnet of armor in order to protect the neck.

A couple of fireballs managed to kill them in gratifying blasts of destruction.

At the room's center, a large pillar of light and power spilled upward, which eventually led like a beacon to the sigil stone itself. _All I have to do is follow it upwards._

Entering the higher levels proved a bit trickier, with traps set into the walls to catch a person unawares. Moving slow and with caution made the job easier by finding the danger well before the trap was set off. Dodging spikes, Saber kept alert and avoiding a number of fireballs as he worked his way to the last levels of the tower. Casting a simple 'detect life' spell, two amorphous shapes of blue and white floated in the area before him. By the shape and movement, Saber recognized them as Deadric lords.

_How perfect for me_, the elf smiled inwardly._ I need to polish my long blade skills a bit_. Drawing out the Manos blade with only the lightest of whispers of steel and air, he also found a soul gem he'd use against them. Enchantments always brought good coin when selling to the mages' guilds. He could also magic a number of items with spells he knew as well. Two of them would even provide a proper challenge.

Using shadow and stealth, Saber found a sense of elation being able to use skills Nekros had taught him as a boy. Silent as a tomb, he could navigate to a perfect spot behind an enemy to hit a deadly blow. Such methods gave him the upper hand, allowing a close and personal encounter with little the way of harm to himself.

Positioning himself behind the larger of the two Daedra, he quickly assessed weapons. Both wore full suits of armor, while the smaller of the two with no helm. The smaller of the two carried a nasty mace with spiked hooks to add damage. The larger lord carried a longsword that glowed ominously of some unknown enchantment. A swift and precise cut to the mid section, finding a weakness in the armor's joint, drove the Manos blade into his back.

Only a light hiss of air escaped him before his kinsmen grew aware of his sudden demise. The face was broad with wide lips drawing back to bare teeth. Skin was dark, marred with orange and yellow tattoos, swirling deep into layers as if burned there. Two horns sprouted the head, adorned with gold.

"You!" It hissed, the voice sounding mixed with surprise and anger.

"You know of me?" Saber asked. He'd dropped in a defensive stance, pocketing the soul gem to draw out another.

"You are the one who shut the gate in Kvatch!" The Daedra seethed. The mace swung a short arch towards his head.

"I am he."

"And I am Shukaf, your executioner!" He growled.

"Well," Saber smiled, "You can certainly try."

With a wild swing of the mace, the ugly hooks remained unmoved only inches from Saber's face held at bay by his slender blade. The enchanted sword seemed flimsy compared to the bulk of Daardric steel, but looks were often deceiving. Shukaf pushed harder, grunting with effort to force the Dunmer back. He was surprised the elf was stronger than he looked.

Snarling, this time Shukaf spun to catch his opponent off guard, hoping the mace would find its mark lower in the stomach. Again Saber blocked, following through with a kick to his chest. The Daedra fell back a few steps, surprised by the move. Now he was alerted that this was no simple adventurer.

"My Lord has voiced an interest in you, mortal." Shukaf sneered. 'Perhaps you will consider joining us?"

Saber laughed, answering with his own flourish with his sword. The curved steel danced in an intricate display of skill, making the lightest sigh of satisfaction. "Your master wishes me to join on an attack of Cyrodil?"

"You think small, mortal. We will take all of Nirn." Shukaf told him, with a sneer. "But personally, I'd rather just kill you."

"I'll consider your offer." Matching his sneer, Saber moved forward. The engagement was brief. The elf dodged the mace aiming for his head with a low duck and spin. Continuing the move, Saber simply rolled away out of reach. Lifting his hand, a blast of ice erupted from fingers hitting the Daedra in the face. His look of shock and surprise was immediately frozen. The body fell slowly as the mace clattered to the floor.

This offer was not unlike the offer Dagoth Ur had given him beneath Red Mountain. Even ruling with fealty sworn to Dagoth, Saber knew there had been bigger plans to conquer the Empire. There was a brief consideration, swift and fleeting. A brief dizzying moment of rule was easily snuffed out. Swearing allegiance to him meant Eiryn's death as well as others he'd come to love, and that was unthinkable.

Now it would seem the offer was presented to him once again. This time there wasn't a sense of needing to kill as much as conquer… Hadn't he considering ruling all of Tamriel not long before entering the gate? Did Fate have a hand in all this?

Wiping his blade free of blood, Saber continued towards the sigil stone. There was time to consider other avenues later.

Note: Forgive the long period of time between updates. The more reviews I get of course will prompt me to write more. Currently, I have a number of projects 'in the works' as well as getting a local writer's group underway. I also created a web site  if any other writers' care to check it out.


	19. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

"I'm sorry." Ferise apologized quickly upon being caught staring at her riding companion. Quickly looking away, she pretended to fuss over the reins of her horse instead of on the vampire next to her. He had been quiet, saying nothing the last three times he caught her gaze watching him too closely. He didn't have to say anything. Ferise was surprised at the power of his presence. She simply couldn't stop trying to find the slight break in the illusion that hid his true nature.

_A vampire._

He didn't look like one now. Eldwin Phlallo appeared as a swarthy Imperial with a carefree fall of shoulder length hair. Thin lips twitched slightly as if holding back a smile, with the chiseled jaw lifting whenever she looked his way. His manner was almost as if he teased her, with both of them too aware of what he was. The growl of his voice couldn't bear much nuance, but he certainly got his point across with subtle expression of his face.

Wearing finery more apt in noble court than riding, the man donned rich blues with fine gold thread entwined with small pearl beads. The tunic was high necked, with a scarf that hid a wound that had ruined his voice. She wondered about that, but lacked the courage to press further.

"I suppose you don't know many vampires?" Eldwin had a relaxed smile upon his lips. At least he didn't seem insulted at her rudeness.

In Morrowind the Temple would put them to fire, and to tolerate their existence was unthinkable. _Vampires are abomination_, she thought to herself. This is what she'd always been taught growing up. But this one didn't seem so bad, despite the stories.

"No," She told him softly.

"Let alone been bitten by one?"

Her stomach twisted, her heart fluttered. Fear and excitement ran through her, warring against her sense of honor. Since she had begun this quest, Ferise had faced a number of impossible goals and life threatening peril. And how many could say they survived a vampire bite, let alone say they traveled with one? But there was more to her reaction. During the few moments in his arms, she was torn between a sense of excitement, and fear. Her life had been in his hands, and the moment quickly passed leaving her dizzy. Guilt warred against her sense of right. _How could a vampire of all creatures provoke such things in me?_

"This Dalvyn fellow…" She changed the subject rather than answer. "How long have you known him?"

His gaze shifted off of her to look around the rolling hillsides. "I've known him since he was a boy. You could say I raised him." Flicking off a bug from his sleeve, the vampire continued. "I found him in the Imperial City living on the streets. He was obviously starving, frightened, and alone. I took him in; clothed him, fed him."

Ferise considered the man, wondering his age. Age certainly didn't show in any line or gray hair. But then, he was one of the undead, and carried a powerful enchantment of illusion. He could look like anything. "Were you a vampire then?"

A slow nod was his only reply. The stare shifted back to her, almost as if to challenge her to question him further. She refused to be coy. "But you never changed him?"

The smile returned. "Not then."

"But I thought you said he wasn't a vampire."

"By the time I tried to change him, he was immune."

"Immune?" Ferise blinked, trying to understand.

"He's immune to all disease." A knowing smile pulled on his lips. "He's had an interesting life."

A thought occurred to her, upon remembering Eldwin mentioned where Dalvyn's destination was. "Why is he heading to Bruma?"

"To do what he does best; to be a hero." The answer was ambiguous, and abruptly short.

"And why did you not go with him?"

To this the vampire's smile faded briefly. "We had a difference in opinion. I also have an importance quest of my own to partake, and he has his destiny to follow." He lifted his chin. "So why are you seeking him? I assume for the ties to family?"

Memory of her family came to mind. "My parents set me this quest, and I've taken an oath to fulfill it. I must find my brother before I can return home."

"Home?"

"To Orthrenis, west of Mournhold." She told him. A member of House Indoril, her quest demanded her attention. Ferise could do little to help her family, slowly being stripped bit by bit by King Helseth and the other Houses. And although her parents and herself were not essential among the Great House, they carried the name and upheld the honor. All the more reason her quest was important now. A lost son was a potential warrior for the House. "My family has an estate there."

"How long have you been looking for him?"

The question was simple enough, one that many had asked her before, but Ferise found the weight of time on her slender shoulders seem tenfold at the vampire's interest. "Almost three years, when I came of age. I was told a man looking very much like me was the one who saved Kvatch. It's the first real lead I've had to finding what could be my brother."

"And what is your brother's name?"

"He was named Arendus Tadril Indoril."

The vampire grunted in considering the name. "That's a long name for a child."

"Most families carry many names to honor our ancestors. I never knew him, of course, being that he disappeared before I was born." Ferise explained, brushing hair from her face. "He's the only son, and the only heir to the estate."

Eldwin's brows rose up. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Why don't you stand to inherit?"

"Tradition, mostly." She shrugged, trying to act as thought it didn't bother her. When she had started this journey, at the time, being dismissed hadn't bothered her taking the role of a dutiful daughter. After years of freedom and independence, she now faced questions as to why she was being passed over. Her House was more conventional than the other Great Houses, upholding House Law above a personal life. She knew first hand on that matter.

Although a lonely journey, she enjoyed the freedom she had now. Life had been rather dull before she took up a sword and took her oath. However reluctant she had been at the beginning, the thrill of adventure had become as much a part of her as being a daughter to a Great House noble. Perhaps even more so. Once she found her brother and returned him home, she'd be expected to return to her duties as a House member to whatever whim her family would ask of her.

"So you find this brother of yours and bring him home?"

Ferise nodded, wondering if her quest was soon to come to an end.

"What if he doesn't want to go?" Eldwin asked.

The question caught her off guard So ingrained with a sense of dedication, she always thought a kinsmen would feel much the same, such a consideration never entered her mind. "Why wouldn't he go with me?"

"Assuming, of course this is your brother, Dalvyn has a life of his own, my dear." The vampire's tone was reproachful. "Has it never occurred to you he may already own estates, and titles?"

Defenses rose up like a wall. "What titles could he possibly have? From what I gathered of this Dalvyn fellow, he was in prison scheduled to be executed for murder not a week before the battle of Kvatch. I've heard nothing of titles or even that he's a guild member."

The vampire chuckled, the laughter almost like a low cough. "Oh trust me…he has titles. Up until this morning, Dalvyn had no memory of his past and who he is. He does now, and has a quest of his own he will need to complete before he can consider anything about your wanting to know if he is kin to you."

"And what quest is that?"

"To save Tamriel."

Ferise scowled.

Eldwin smiled. "And you should already be familiar with his titles, being from Morrowind."

"Oh?" Her curiosity piqued.

"Hortator and Nerevarine."

"What?" Ferise wasn't sure if she heard him correctly. Was he playing a game? "That's impossible. The Nerevarine was lost somewhere in Akivar.-"

"He's the Nerevarine, and it's a long story." Eldwin affirmed.

"Then tell me!" _Dalvyn as the Nerevarine? How…? No, its not possible!_

He looked at her askance, judged her quickly before replying. "We're almost to the Gold Road where we must part out ways. The story would take longer to tell. If you run your horse, you might be able to find him before he reaches Bruma."

A sense of panic ran through the young Dunmer. What if Dalvyn wasn't kin to her after all? What if all this travel and questioning led her to another dead end? And this mentioning of saving Tamriel, no doubt from this blasted Oblivion gates, also intrigued her. Hadn't she waited already three years to find her brother? His information seems more important. "If I go with you to Skingrad, will you tell me everything?"

Eldwin seemed to think before answering her. "I will need to feed before then." The tone was almost a question, as if warning her off, but for some reason, she found she was not afraid of him.

"I have a few cure disease potions with me." She pointed out. "Will you tell me?"

A slow smile relaxed his features. "Certainly. Where shall I begin?"

Ferise let her horse fall into a comfortable walk beside his. "At the beginning, of course."

Cloud Temple was every bit what one might expect from its name and safe haven for the Blades Guild. Hovering atop a ridge alone the Jerall Mountains, lost amid the low hung clouds, the Akivari architecture gave one a mystical and serene sense of peace. One might even forget for a short time the perils of the land, shading oneself into an illusion of safety and security.

As she stood admiring the breathtaking view below, drawing in the cold breezes, she knew trouble would find them eventually. Hair rustled across her face, reminding her she best tie it back into its braid. The length kept her warm, however, so as long as she didn't need to, she left it alone.

"From whence the wind shall blow," A voice spoke softly. Eiryn turned to find the Emperor standing not far, as if he'd been standing watching her for some time. The gentle smile matched an unassuming glint in his eye as he spoke words from a poem. "Send to me thy words and deed."

Tugging her cloak around her, Eiryn gave a slight bow. For a ruler of the Empire, he was the most unpretentious choice for a monarch she'd ever met. Still preferring simple robes of homespun over velvets and silks, he didn't look remotely like what one might find in an Emperor. The carefree tussle of brown hair blew above a pair of light grey eyes that always looked too long in her direction. His attention of her was flattering, but often made her uncomfortable; moreso as she found herself lost in loneliness.

Guilt was thick. She simply couldn't shake a sense of attraction for the man. Eiryn felt torn between wanting to be friends to showing proper respect for the ruler of Tamriel. She smiled. "Poetry has never been a strong interest of mine."

"It's from an epic poet of a princess left to wait for any word of her Champion." He explained, moving to stand beside her. "Watching you standing here on the wall reminded me of it. I felt the words voiced how one must feel wondering what becomes of those we love, never knowing what may happen to them."

"I can't say you ever get used to it." She told him, looking back to the valley. "The waiting is the worst of it."

"The stories of the Incarnate and his companion are all very romantic." Martin said. "Adventure…righting wrongs…saving the world. You and Dalvyn…or rather…Lord Nerevar, are the epitome of what heroes are."

Eiryn had to laugh at that. "Things are not always as they seem. "

The light-hearted chuckle matched her humor. "As you've mentioned before." He looked out at the view. "You've lived an incredible life. Your father told me how you remained faithful through a number of impossible odds. That is truly remarkable."

Somehow her father boasting about her seemed out of place. On rare occasion, Caius had voiced his pride in his only daughter. More often than not, however, he left her the impression that duty came before anything else. She never considered her faithfulness being anything other than being a true friend, and doing what was right.

Suddenly embarrassed, she shifted beneath his intent gaze. "Well, it hasn't been easy. I was nothing more than a simple scout before I met Saber."

"As a priest, my life had been also very unassuming." He told her, "My best hope for adventure was to provide healing or listen to stories of travelers through Kvatch. I never thought I'd be of any of this…but now…"

"It must be overwhelming." Eiryn replied, glad for the change of topic.

The ruler of Tamriel grew pensive, and his tone thick with distaste. "I think it may take years to get used to." Eyes closed and the smile grew rueful. "All these people are now depending on me to save them…I spent years the son of a farmer, then a priest. I'm no warrior, not to the caliber of your friends. It still seems so absurd to me. Can you imagine? Me, an emperor?"

"Its not so hard to imagine." Eiryn assured him, thinking that perhaps he was the best choice after all. "Who better to rule the land than a man of the people? And although it would help if you were a warrior, I think a ruler needs to be more a diplomat. You are certainly that. My only advice is to take it one day at a time. Let others throw the accolades, but stay focused on what's important and what matters most."

The gray eyes twinkled. "Spoken like a true hero."

His closeness made her edgy, his compliment even more so. Giving a light, nervous laugh, Eiryn shook her head. "Maybe that's the secret to being a hero' is never consider yourself one."

The emperor grinned, placing his hand over her hand resting on the battlement. "Then I shall stop reminding you."

"Sire…" Jauffre's voice cut through their moment, alerting them to his arrival. He stood in full garb of a Blade with the plated armor and light Mithral chain. The look was guarded, his manner pensive. "Dalvyn has returned…"


	20. Chapter 19

Saber stood with an intense anger simmering beneath a veneer of neutrality. He had ridden his horse hard the last mile, uphill the entire length of road to reach the gates of the temple. He sought to find Eiryn, almost desperate to find that safety in her presence to feel whole again. How often had he referred to the woman as his soul, his conscience? The woman was his balance, the one thing in his life that felt right.

The dark shadow of his own soul, malignant and crouched, threatened to snuffed out the former hero had become. Eiryn was one of the few people that could abate his mood. A gentle word, or her sharp reprieve held enough sway against his temper to set him back to right. Now, he finds her standing, her hand touching another, their bodies inches apart. The contact was barely that, but jealously was sudden and intense. It was all he could do to uphold a level of stoicism he didn't feel.

He barely paid attention to the emperor's greeting or the welcome of his return. Instead, all attention was on the woman who remained near the wall. She looked radiant with waist long hair fluttering in the gusty winds, cheeks made ruddy by the cold. Startling green eyes stared back, lips parted slightly in surprise. The gaze held him in a tight grip, and he wasn't sure he liked what he found there.

Fear? Distrust? Perhaps she hadn't recognized him? A brief wave of self disgust passed over him like heat, causing his gaze to drop. He tried to imagine what he appeared to her.

In the past, he always took care with his appearance, recognizing the importance of clothes amid nobility and how people treated you. Now he was unwashed and dusty from the road. Saber hoped she'd look beyond his haggard appearance, with his hair still too short, too close against the skull, the growth still fuzzy and hardly enough to keep him warm. The motley mix of armor was unusual for him, as was bearing a sword worn at the hip instead of harnessed to his back. He hadn't found a smith to provide him a shoulder harness yet, or repair his armor.

He wasn't even sure what he had expected from her. No, that was no true. In the past, her greetings had always been exuberant, often running into arms without a care, holding him fiercely as if to say she'd never let him go. That is exactly what he expected, what he craved upon seeing her.

This time she stood and simply stared.

Something pinched in his gut, squirming in the darkness lodged there.

Martin, meanwhile, only hesitated at this behavior, misinterpreting the emotion behind it. "I can see you have bad news. You didn't recover the amulet, did you?"

Saber forced himself to focus on the Imperial, struck by how human Martin was, how similar in color and even height compared to Eiryn. He wondered how she perceived this lost heir. Handsome? Powerful? How close had they become in his absence? The rage simmered beneath a calm yet chilled exterior.

"But I did find the Mysterium Xarxes." Oddly his voice was gruff with unspoken emotion, the tone too similar to that of his former master. He handed his pack over.

"By the Nine!" Martin recoiled, tossing the bag to the floor as if burned, The show of temper startled everyone. "Such a thing is dangerous even to handle!"

The Dunmer glowered this time, insulted and angered by the outburst. The inner turmoil swelled, threatening to emerge in a dangerous display. If not were for the Blademaster, Jauffre, and Eiryn standing there, he may have taken drastic retribution for the slight. Every ounce of willpower maintained control.

The emperor, unaware of the internal battle, lifted hands in appeasement, calming himself quickly. "Forgive me. You were right to bring it. I know some ways of protecting myself from its evil power." He smiled in apology.

Saber watched him carefully. "Can the Xarxes lead us to Camoran?"

Eying the backpack, Martin frowned. "I don't know. Maybe. I suspect the secret to open a portal to Camoran's Paradise lies within the pages." He bent over, picked up the bag to pull its contents out. The unobtrusive book was of pale leather, too pale to be that from an animal. A large Daedric glyph of an unknown metal rested amid droplets of blood. The book carried a foreboding presence, as if the object took on a cloud of maliciousness.

Martin grimaced. "I suspect the secret of how to open a portal to Camoran's Paradise lies within these pages. But I will need time. Tampering with dark secrets, even just reading them, can be very dangerous. I'll have to proceed carefully." He looked up to those who watched his reaction. "This evil book was written by Mehrunes Dagon himself, and given by him to Mankar Camoran. It is now clear to me that the only way to stop the Oblivion invasion is to relight the Dragonfires."

"How, my lord?" Jauffre asked.

The emperor drew in a resigned breath. "Emperor...Amulet...and Dragonfire. With these Divine gifts the Daedra of Oblivion have been kept at bay for thousands of years. While the Dragonfires burned, the divine barriers kept the Daedra from making more than fleeting visits to out world." His hand strayed to the blood red amulet around his neck. "But the Dragonfires can only be relit by an heir of the Septim blood, wielding the Amulet of Kings. This was the essence of Camoran's plot. He was undone by the merest chance but his complete victory remains perilously close. We must recover the Amulet of Kings and relight the Dragonfires before it is too late to stem the Dagon's invasion."

He turned to Saber, self controlled now and too quiet. "I hope to have the Mysterium Xarxes translated within a few days. I would imagine you need rest, and food." He turned with a smile to Eiryn, unaware of the red-hot glare of the Dark Elf beside him. "I'm sure you have much to catch up on with your companion. Return to me in a few days time and we will discuss what must be done next."

Saber said nothing, only giving a stiff bow before turning to leave the great hall. He gave a curt nod to Eiryn in a silent, unspoken gesture to join him. She nodded, giving a bow to the emperor before following out of the hall.

--------

Eiryn dogged his steps, finding his long, deliberate strides were meant to force her to quicken her pace. Saber was a head taller than she, leaving the top of her head to touch his chin if they stood side by side. But now he remained three lengths ahead left her to follow, leaving uncertainty in his wake.

Guilt felt thick in her throat, preventing her from making excuses as to why she behaved the way she did. Upon first seeing Saber, she hadn't recognized him. When realization finally did come, all she could do is stare. Something she never thought was possible when seeing Saber also came into light.

Eiryn was frightened.

He had changed dramatically. He'd lost muscle and bulk in their time apart. Such things had to be expected being he'd been in prison, she reasoned but the startling appearance of him left her doubtful. His long hair that once fallen past shoulders was gone. Black hair spiked with new growth, giving him a dangerous look. Clothes and armor were unkempt, while before he prided himself on having elegance amid nobles. But even this she could easily dismiss out of hand. No, there was something more prevalent in his change, something more sinister now.

Seeing him stand there, before the emperor, Eiryn could only stare unblinking at the elf she'd come to love. Eyes were shadowed and guarded. The angular face was chiseled like ebony, tension lining an expression devoid of emotion. The curved mouth, so often tugging into a play smile now set in a grim line. The gaze seemed empty, somehow vacant of the normally easy going Dunmer she'd come to love. The dark fog he carried seemed now a shroud.

In that moment of acknowledging that fear, Eiryn also knew that _he_ knew her thoughts as well. This only served to frighten her more.

Saber's temper, however, was her main concern. Since Nekros' attempt at changing him, the Nerevarine had been known to have a rage, even extending to brutality on occasion but only directed to bandits or those who attacked first. Now, she wasn't so sure what to expect. How much _had_ he changed-?

With determined steps, he led them through the doors leading to dining area. A few more steps led down to the only door, which he opened to allow them entrance. The smithy below was modest in size, providing just enough room to sharpen blades, repair weapons, and store some armor. This was one of the few rooms that gave privacy, with only a single Blade testing a long sword on a dummy.

"Get out." Saber warned him, undoing his sword belt.

The man turned, insulted by the gruff order but recognized who was speaking. Clearly the man considered refusing. Something in the tone or direct, warning glare bade him take leave before someone got hurt.

As the door shut behind him, Eiryn felt it pertinent to take the first move. "Saber-" She began. Her voice stopped when he turned sharply to direct his attention entirely on her. Her throat closed up in fear. He's never looked at me that way. "Wha..what's wrong?"

The head tilted slightly. "What's _wrong_?" Deft fingers undid the buckle at his shoulder, sliding off the cauldron. "_Wrong_? No welcome for me? No kind words? Perhaps you were too distracted by your precious emperor."

"Distracted?" Eiryn couldn't believe he'd be jealous. Not after all they've been through, after all she'd done to come to Cyrodil to find him! "I was..shocked! I wasn't sure if you were dead or alive. And you're...so different. What did you expect?"

Saber yanked the cuirass off, throwing to the ground as he moved closer. The movement was abrupt, catching her off guard and forcing her to take a step back from his advance. She stopped when she felt the wall behind, pinned by his angry stare. He stood inches from her, seething. The sanguine gaze flickered across her face, and something passed over his mood. A myriad storm clouded across his face, the tension like glass. Something however moved him, calmed him. Thoughts unknown to her softened the features into something of regret.

She felt his breath on her cheeks, watched the inner turmoil settle like the swell of the sea after a storm. His hand slowly reached up to touch her chin, fingers running delicately along her jawline.

"I had hoped to see a welcome." Saber told her. Pain was evident, despite or because of his former rage.

Realizing her body trembled, Eiryn fought back tears. Her voice barely whispered his name before she wrapped arms around his waist to hold him tight. In response, the Nerevarine melted against her, returning the embrace. She buried her face, unable to staunch the flow of tears this time.

"You are frightened of me." His voice rumbled against her cheek as she pressed against him. The words stated this as fact, as if reading her thoughts. When she didn't answer, fingers trailed through her hair as a motion to comfort. His voice grew tight. "That's alright. I'm frightened of me too."

----------

Eldwin had grown powerful in magick since his changing to vampire, but one skill he never managed was reading minds. In truth, he'd never discover a spell that allow one to peer into another's thoughts. Such power would give him an unsportsmanlike advantage. He wished he had such magic now, lost in the silence between himself and the Dunmer woman.

Ferise sat cross legged on a bed roll. They discovered the cave just as a storm broke over the sky. Once cleared of the goblins within, they settled next to a firepit to rest before taking to the road once more. Eldwin had told his story, finding the words refused to quell once started. He hadn't expected to tell her everything. As a vampire, as an assassin, he assumed this was simply his nature of secrecy, but a sudden need to tell someone his story forced the tale out of him. Once started, he simply found it impossible to stop.

Eldwin told her he was the Butcher of Cyrodil, a master assassin presumed dead, and the reasons that came into being. He told her Saber's attempt to kill him, and his years of seeking revenge. As the words wove out the sorted tale, he expected revulsion or fear, but instead found the woman listening intently, prompting him to continue whenever he paused.

Ferise' appearance was so similar to that of Saber's, and yet she held no anger towards him. Sometimes he forgot he was speaking to a woman he just met, and found the tone too often shifted to one of regret. Perhaps in some way he felt he apologized to his former apprentice for all the wrongs he committed. Unable to sort of the mess of unaccustomed emotion, he simply let the story tell itself.

Clearly she pondered his words, sorting out truth to possible lies. He couldn't blame her confusion. It was a story of legend. He brushed lightly on Saber's childhood, not wishing her judgment on his cruelty. In truth, at the time he wanted Saber toughened to face the hardships of life, much as he had taught as a boy. Eldwin hoped Saber would rise to the occasion and become an assassin as he did. To be good at that, one needed a cold edge, much like a hidden dagger. Razor sharp and thirsty for blood. Ironic how ugly this appeared on Saber now.

"So, he's not a vampire." Her soft tone still managed a light echo in the cave. Attention settled on the embers of the fire. Fire glow illuminated the lovely skin, unmarred by scar or anger. "And you think this bond you've mentioned has something to do with his change in personality."

"Indubitably." Eldwin responded. The young elf woman didn't seem to judge too harshly. In fact, she seemed impressively calm in light of what he'd told her. Leaning against a rock behind him, he wondered why he cared for her opinion.

"And you hope to change this."

The vampire nodded. "This is the reason for my traveling to Skingrad. Rumor has it I can find a cure there."

"How can you be sure it will work?"

Her question was the same he asked of himself. He could become human, only to find Saber still dark and sinister. Would the sacrifice then be worth it? He wasn't quite sure the answer to that, but felt he could still look for a cure. He could change his mind later. "I don't know if it will work."

Ferise chewed her lip in thought. "This bond...will switch both of you back to what you were?"

Eldwin drew in a breath, having not considered this much. Knowing now the emotion behind relationship, knowing conscience and seeing the results of having one... he wasn't sure he wanted to go back to such soulless life. "Yes, I would imagine so."

The woman added another branch to the fire. For a long time she fussed with blowing at coals, and setting wood to bring the flame to brighten the dark cave. Eldwin could only watch, wondering in the thick unspoken silence between them what her thoughts might be.

"I should help you then." She finally said.

"Oh? And what makes you think you need my help?" He countered, stunned she was even offering.

A light shrug of shoulders, she smiled. "You don't need any help?"

"I never had before." Eldwin felt prompted to discourage her, but something inside him craved her company. "This quest is not without some danger. Have you not listened to my story?"

Her hand waved in a dismissive gesture. "Yes, butcher of Cyrodil, master assassin, blood drinking vampire. I got that."

"So why offer to help me?" Why was she not afraid?

"Some might say I am young and foolhardy. Perhaps that is true. I am young, but I had to grow up very fast. I am also astute, and the past few years have taught me to judge men. I have faced danger and looked into the eyes of men I killed." Her hands spread fingers, palm up. "My hands are not without their own share of blood. I did not take enjoyment in those deaths. They are dead just the same. And if you say is true, that the Nerevarine will save us all from the Oblivion gates, then I think I should help you in your quest."

"And why are you not afraid of me?"

Lips curled at his question, holding back some amusement. "Because if your story is true, then your conscience will prevent you from harming me."

"You presume much."

"Perhaps," Her mouth widened into a smile. "Besides, I'm not sure if I'm ready to end my quest, and your path is likely the more exciting path."

Eldwin nodded idly, taking his turn at poking at coals. It was something to busy hands, to refocus his attention. ""You're either very foolish or very brave."

He hadn't meant to be funny, but her laughter came abruptly. The noise was infectious, causing his own expression to lighten. The woman grinned. "I suppose I could be a bit of both."

She was at that, he mused, and he guessed so much more.

Note: Forgive the short chapter. For some reason, writing this has been slow and arduous. I've also signed up for the NaNoWriMo Contest starting in November, so getting more chapters out will prove even more challenging. You can visit my personal site (see link at my profile) for updates.


	21. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

Saber found his appetite soured beneath the combined scrutiny of what he had always considered his friends. Eiryn, sitting to his right, continued with her nervous glances, only to look away whenever he looked back. Despite his reassurances he was in no way a danger to her, something had changed between them. A rift had grown from the time apart. Whatever trust he'd lost would take time to render whole again. Saber wasn't sure he wanted to wait that long.

Caius, weathered in his age and Skooma addiction, clearly watched with suspicion, the gray eyes squinting at his every move. Merthisan, who had been mentor and friend, hid his guard behind forced friendliness. The shifted eye and odd quirk of his mouth belied a nervousness Saber recognized over the years of knowing him.

As they ate dinner in silence, the Dunmer was stuck at the elderly men. Caius hadn't aged well, looking more frail than fit. Years of his Skooma addiction had taken its toll. Eyes faded from steel blue to pale gray. Lines etched the years to the broad face and defined chin. Although remaining stout, Caius might still yet draw a sword. How he'd managed against Daedra was another story.

Merthisan fared slightly better. The beard and brow matched the silver long hair, braided in the Nord style. Two tiny braids lined the beard, cascading down the front of his shirt. Creases that lined his face showed how often the man smiled. He kept his form trim though a bit tarnished by the years. Saber found his own eternal existence like a lead weight.

The tension felt heavy in the silence. Clearly they shared Eiryn's concern. Greetings to the lost Nerevarine were similar to Eiryn's; guarded and surprised. Comments on his appearance further rifted him from the group. Where once he'd feel welcomed, now he was an outsider to them.

Unable to eat, Saber found the rich port more to his liking. Twirling the glass in the candlelight of the dining hall, he admired the deep red color, so much like blood. Albeit a bit too sweet, the warmth in his belly helped relax the tension for him. "

Eiryn tells me Ald Ruhn is no more." He said, hoping to ease their worries.

Merthisan nodded with a mouthful of steak, swallowing quickly to respond. "Burned to the ground."

"And House Redoran?"

Eiryn made pathways through gravy and potatoes on her plate. "Only a shell of what they once were. The council was all but killed off."

Saber remembered Nekros mentioning having killed Dilvene of Redoran. He had wanted that bitch for himself-

"The temple took Lord Vivec somewhere safe." Merthisan explained, "The main power lies now is Televani. I think the people of Vvardenfell now look to wizards to save them."

The Nerevarine nodded, pondering on this power shift. Vivec had lost his immortality. He had once been one of the three gods of the Tribunal. How galling to have had such power only to be a mere mortal now. Saber was struck at the thought how vulnerable Vivec would be now.

Caius tapped fingers. "You made no mention of what happened to Nekros."

This caused Saber to snap to attention. They knew of the vampire being in Cyrodil? Well, he supposed Eiryn told them just about everything. "He will not be a problem."

"You killed him?" Eiryn's tone hinted at regret if he had made that decision. "He went to go find you. Eldwin was the only one who knew where to look."

_Eldwin?_ Saber scowled. She doesn't call him Nekros? Things had changed more than I thought. "He lives, but if we ever part ways again, I will remedy that."

"Why let him live?" The retired spymaster held the opinion that killing Nekros was for the best.

Saber set his glass down. "He saved my life at the shrine. Seems a bit ungrateful of me to kill him." Even as he spoke, the Nerevarine wondered to his true reasoning. Part of him felt killing him might end the bond, but also take away the deadly edge he gained from this connection to his former master. What if killing him also killed myself?

Caius grunted, not willing to pursue the subject further. They had argued in the past on this subject, and although Caius obviously would rather the vampire be destroyed, he couldn't deny the threat to Saber as well.

"So what do you think the emperor will find in that book of his?" Merthisan prudently changed the subject.

"With any hope, he'll find a way to light the Dragonfires and end this crisis." Eiryn replied.

As the conversation turned towards speculation, the Dunmer fell quiet with his own thoughts. They drifted to the Daedra who offered him a position among them, to one of power. For a moment he allowed himself the luxury of fantasy, wondering what it would be like to claim such high title. To rule all of Nirn...

And it would be so easy, he thought. Remove Martin, end any chance of sealing the gates from the Oblivion hordes, and he gained the entire world if he wanted. The thought was dizzying. There had been a time he refused titles and power, but now- he glanced at the strangers around him- things were different.

"You were originally from Skingrad." Ferise wasn't looking at him when she spoke. She didn't have to. The words were stated, leaving no doubt that what she said was fact. As she gazed up at the high walls of the city, she used a flattened hand to block the sun from her eyes. Loose hair fell across her cheek, which she brushed aside.

Eldwin sorted through memory of what he shared with her, not remembering having told her any such thing. "Why do you say that?" He asked her.

She turned, motioning towards the stables to take care of their horses. "You're familiar with the roads." A slender shoulder shrugged casually. "Your manner changed once we passed the vineyards. I'm guessing all of this, of course."

"How very astute of you." He told her, leading his mount to the corral. The plodding hooves reminded him they best have their mounts stabled and shod before taking to the road once more. "My family owned a vineyard outside the city."

Ferise didn't respond with words. He liked that about her. The woman used silence to communicate with subtle expression instead. Brows arched, making it obvious she wanted to know more. Eldwin had no intention of sharing that much of his past. Astute or not, however observant the woman was, he had no intention of sharing that much of his past with her.

"They died."

If she wanted a long, drawn out story, she was sadly mistaken.

"Your whole family?"

Eldwin busied himself with the horse, pretending to not hear her. He hoped she'd take the silence as his wanting to not speak of it.

"Did they make wine?"

"That is what a vineyard would produce." He replied without looking at her.

"Surillie? Tamika?" She named two of the well known vintages of the area, named after the families that produced them. Dead family, however, do not produce wine. After their passing, the neighboring families took over the fields, or what was left of them.

"No."

"I'm sorry. Forgive me." Her tone softened. "You don't wish to speak of your family."

No, he didn't. Memories roused against his will, memories he had hoped to strangle into nothing.

His parents had originally been merchants, buying a vineyard outside of Skingrad to make a name for themselves. Two brothers and three sisters shared the numerous chores such a business demanded. Eldwin had been the youngest and even then, small for his age. His parents left no doubt he was a disappointment to the family name. He wasn't entirely sure when that happened, or why, only that his father took any mistake serious enough to beat him into submission.

He remembered wanting his mother to defend him, but her manner of silence and sad woeful eyes told him he'd receive no rescue. Siblings were only glad they were not at the focus of their sire's temper, and so life went on.

Eldwin learned to avoid family whenever possible, busying himself with chores, and losing himself in the city whenever he could. Reading became a favorite past time, and a developing interest in joining the mages' guild also pulled him away from home. When his father found out, he was furious.

That night, Eldwin felt the first stirring of real fear from his sire. The man nearly beat him senseless. He managed to run into the vineyards, hiding in the dark. Knowing discovery meant another beating, or worse, he found desperate situations called for desperate actions. He fed his rage then, letting anger rouse and spill over like a storm to hide his pain. During the dark of night, he broke barrels of vintage out of spite, and set the house on fire.

To this day Eldwin wasn't sure if he meant the entire family, as well as servants, for them to die in the flames, but no one survived. Many believed that even he had been consumed. Unable to provoke grief for those who died, the boy simply felt numb and alone. He wandered near the city, too unsure of what the citizens of Skingrad would say about a young boy surviving his family's tragic end.

One night, beneath the gentle light of a full moon, he met a mysterious and alluring gentlemen name Vicente. The man had gentile and unassuming manners. Recognizing Eldwin as a street waif, the Imperial bought him a grand meal, and spoke without judgment or ridicule. He knew what Eldwin had done, and admired the skill and determination a boy of his age had. After some promises and his ever so subtle method of sections, Vicente introduced him onto the path of the assassin.

The Dark Brotherhood became the family he never truly had, of members who cared what became of him, encouraged him, and helped him in time of need. So overwhelmed by the show of emotion, he willingly accepted Vicente's offer to be embraced. Life was never the same after that.

Elwin found the vampire's embrace to be the first time he felt any physical comfort. His tendency towards brutality was a boon, not a curse. In fact, his brothers and sisters within the guild encouraged the streak of cruelty, honed his skills, and he moved up through the ranks with unheard of speed.

All of which ended when he was to slaughter them through a cleansing ritual demanded by the Night Mother. Elwin, now known only as Nekros, took the assignment as a test of resolve. Surely the Night Mother knew what was best.

One by one the guild members died. Nekros gave them quick deaths, often giving them a gift of dying unaware. Most never knew until too late they were dead. Vicente, however, proved too difficult to kill. To the surprise of Nekros who so readily embraced obedience and the code of the Dark Brotherhood, he found the death of his sire, the only true father he ever known, was too unbearable.

Instead of killing him, Nekros simply left for the Imperial City. Then he became legend.

"So where do we find this cure?" Ferise asked him, pulling him away from his reverie.

He swallowed against a swell of emotion, glad she changed the subject to the present. "I need rest." A headache throbbed in tempo with his heart, a side effect he found from using too much magic. "And you need food." He gave her an once-over, judging her armor and travel worn garb. "And we'll need supplies and to get new clothes."

She looked down at herself, frowning. "I have clothes."

"Better clothes." He corrected.

The brows tightened further. "These are perfectly fine." A short fingernail traced a light tear. "I can repair them."

Sighing in exasperation, Eldwin shook his head. "If you see the count of Skingrad, or any noble, you need better than leather and homespun."

"We're here to see the count?"

"Yes, and we'll need something more... refined." His mind flashed an image of her swathed in velvet and silk. The image he found warmed him, lightening his mood considerably. Even with a gown, he felt the dust of the road would mar whatever improvements made. "Perhaps a bath would also be in order.."

Ferise opened her mouth then shut it. "Fine. But I'm not wearing a dress."

Ah well, Eldwin smiled inwardly, that at least is something.

The hour grew late with candles burned to stubble and the flames dancing wildly in an attempt to stay lit. Most were near puddles of wax, and would need to be replaced. That chore would wait until morning, Eiryn decided. She gathered her robe around herself, sitting closer to the open hearth in the main hall.

Saber approached, handing her a goblet of wine discovered in the kitchens left unattended. "A fine vintage. I think you will appreciate the sweet taste…" He murmured, pausing to trace a finger along her cheek. "I've missed you."

Eiryn forced a smile, unsure if she should tell him of her condition. Would he assume the child wasn't his? In light of his earlier show of temper, she decided to wait.

"Something troubles you?" He asked, taking a seat across from her. The warm glow of the fire shimmered off the steel gray of her Dunmer heritage. He donned an informal wool tunic with matching breeches, wearing soft soled boots of deerskin. She found she was still shocked at seeing him without the long hair.

"I don't think I can get used to the short hair." This wasn't entirely a lie. The style angled his features sharply.

Rubbing the fuzz along his scalp, the elf shrugged. "It will grow back."

"Yes, you're right." Eiryn agreed, rolling the goblet between palms.

"You haven't touched your wine."

She looked up sharply, catching him staring at her untouched cup.

"It's not poisoned." He added, taking a sip from his own.

Why would he think I would think that? Aghast, she took a sip, only for him. The taste was sweeter than wines from Morrowind. Better than her favored drink of Cowberry wine, she decided.

"Are you still frightened of me?" Saber asked her.

By the tone, Eiryn guessed he felt frustrated after assuring her he would never harm her. His voice hinted an adversarial tone, one she hated to see once again. "I'm only concerned with the Oblivion crisis." She lied, feeling she had no other choice. "If what the emperor says is true, then we're facing the end of everything we know."

"Or a new beginning." The Dunmer spoke with a twist to his lips, hinting at a smile.

"What? What do you mean a new beginning?"

Saber waved dismissively. "Never mind. Martin will save the day." He told her, "He is from a long line of kings. A Dragonblood, surely that should count for something, right?"

Before Eiryn could ask what he meant, a soft voice alerted them of Martin's presence. "It's good to hear your confidence in me." He said with a gentle smile. The emperor still wore the frayed robe he wore earlier, having been reading non-stop all this time. "And I think I have found a way to end this crisis."

He had their full attention now. Choose the last chair nearest to the fire; he drew in a long breath before continuing. Whatever news he had did not fare well for them.

"It is clear to me that the only way to stop the Oblivion invasion is to relight the Dragonfires." His eyes seem to fade, staring into embers. Eiryn could see his throat work when he swallowed. "Emperor…Amulet…and Dragonfire…with these divine gifts, the Daedra of Oblivion have been kept at bay for thousands of years. When the Dragonfires burned, the divine barriers kept the Daedra from making more than fleeting visits to our world." Hands clasped before him as if in prayer. "But the Dragonfires can only be relit by an heir of the Septim blood wielding the Amulet of Kings. This was the essence of Mankar Camoran's plot. He was undone only by the merest…chance," He glanced at Saber, giving a meaningful nod of thanks to the hero of Kvatch. "But his complete victory remains perilously close. We must recover the Amulet of Kings and relight the Dragonfires before it is too late to stem Dagon's invasion."

"How?" Eiryn asked; glad to hear of even a spark of hope amid this crisis.

Martin dipped his chin in thought before answering, as if reluctant to tell her. "I've made some progress on the Mysterium Xarxes. I think I've identified the section that deals with opening a portal to Camaron's Paradise."

"Camaron's Paradise?" Eiryn frowned. "What's that?"

"Where Camaron escaped to." Saber told her. "I saw a portal open in the Mythic Shrine. It looked similar to the gates…"

"Yes," Martin nodded, "and can be opened from the outside. However, it will be more difficult, as I will have to bind myself to the book. And…"

"What?" Eiryn prompted him to continue.

"The Xarxes mentioned four items needed for the ritual. So far, I've deciphered one of them; the blood of a Daedra Lord."

"Oh… is that all?" Saber gave a light snort of disgust. "And where exactly are we to find blood of a Daedra Lord?"

The emperor leaned back in the oversized chair. His lips formed a grim line. "Such artifacts are known to be formed from the essence of a Daedric Lord from where they derive their great power. Not an easy thing to come by, obviously, but we will need a Daedric artifact. Bring it to me when you have acquired one."

Saber gulped the remainder of his wine, tired and angry. "Any suggestions on where to look?"

"Saber…" Eiryn chastised him, stunned he would take such a tone with the one man who could close the gates. He shot her a heated glare.

Martin ignored it. "The only way to find one is through the cults surrounding the Daedra Lords. The book, Modern Heretics, is the best introduction to Daedric cults. The library here has a copy of it."

"Excellent," The Nerevarine spoke with his tone bordering sarcasm. "I'll get right to it."

The emperor smiled, the cynicism either ignored or unnoticed. "I cannot express sufficiently my personal gratitude to your efforts to help me, to help all of Tamriel." He told him, then added, "To you as well, Eiryn. Your loyalty is an example to us all."

Eiryn noticed Saber's simmering temper beneath a hot gaze. "Yes, her loyalty is without question."

Bristling from his tone, she met his glare directly, adding. "I would hope that loyalty is well earned."

By his ease of posture, he took her words seriously and opted to take his leave. "I have an early ride tomorrow." He told them, "To find this artifact."

Martin straightened. "You have an artifact in mind?"

Saber gave a bow, "There is a Daedric Lord I am on a first name basis with." When the emperor's brows shot up in surprise, the Nerevarine told him, "Lord Azura."

Note: Forgive the length of time it took me to publish this chapter. The National Novel Writing Contest took a lot out of me. I don't think I'll be doing that again, but the experience was worth it. 50,000 words in thirty days taught me that I can be a prolific writer if I set my mind to it. Perhaps now I can focus on other writing, and get this fanfic finished in a timely manner. ;-)


	22. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

The morning's chill, Eiryn discovered, was enough to steal one's breath away. Thick snowflakes drifted in the hushed air of dawn, leaving a dust of white over the temple cobblestone. The mountains were lost in a haze of gray sky, shrouding the city of Bruma in a blanket of mist.

Cloud Temple was of Akavari design, hidden amid the Jarell mountain range that ran north of the Cyrodil border. Steadfast and built of thick stone and mortar, one would assume nothing could break the impenetrable walls of this place. Eiryn felt safe here, as safe as she could in light of this Oblivion invasion. But with Saber's arrival, his temper, and the constant tension rising up between them, her security held on the barest strings of hope that he would return to the Dark Elf he once was.

She also knew by Martin's ever present concerns, that this place could likely fall just as Kvatch did. What would be considered sanctuary, she knew, was merely an illusion. If Mehrunes Dagon and his army attacked, it was only a matter of time before they broke through the defenses.

Saber had risen early this morning, not saying a word. Eiryn found him saddling his horse and busying with preparations to leave. He barely looked at her when she hovered near the entrance. Everything unsaid from the past few days hung between them.

"Were you going to leave without even saying goodbye?" She asked him, finding this time she wasn't so angry with him. The space between them could be miles apart by the cold shoulder he gave her.

Donning the leather and fur armor provided him more girth to his lean frame, but the cold steel of his gaze was clear. Nothing had changed. In fact, if nothing else, he was angry with her still. Her question caused him to pause in what he was doing. "And you're not going to ask to come with me?"

Fear pinched her gut. He was right. Times before she'd argue about being left behind. _How can I explain my fears of leaving the security of this place when in less than nine months we'll have a child?_ The thought caused another wave of fear to course through her.

_The baby…._

How dangerous could he be to a son or daughter with this temper of his? But then, what if this was the spark that led him back home, to his returning to the elf she fell in love with? Eiryn had to forcibly shove aside the weaknesses motherhood burdened her with. Baby or no, I am still the same scout and capable warrior.

"I have reasons why I want to stay." Eiryn told him firmly.

Saber turned his attention fully to her now. The subdued light of early morning brought sharp angles to his face. He'd lost weight in their time apart. The handsome face now etched an unmoving rigidity about him. Behind the severe stare, Eiryn could see thoughts were racing, guessing, wondering. "And what would that be?"

"Its not about Martin…"

"You call the emperor by his first name?" Brows rose up.

She wasn't giving into his jealously this time. "It has nothing to do with him."

Saber's mouth tightened. "Oh? Then what? I'm supposed to leave you in the arms of the heir to the throne of Cyrodil, and believe your wanting to stay has nothing to do with that?"

Swallowing hard, she stiffened her resolve to remain truthful with him. _Just tell him, get it over with_. "I'm pregnant."

The words visibly shook him. Clearly that was the last thing he expected her to tell him. What's more; he was already assuming the worst of her.

"What?" His tone was tight, the vision narrowed. Assumptions fluttered across the expression he had, accusing and settling into something menacing.

"And of course its your child." She added angrily. She let her own anger match his in turn boosting courage to clear the air between them. How dare he assume she would betray his trust!

"I can't father-"

"Well apparently you can. I didn't believe it either. I didn't even find out until Nekros told me-" Red eyes glittered at the mention of his name, but she ignored that too. "And a healer confirmed it. I'm pregnant, with _your_ child. This is why I don't want to leave. Frankly I'm sick of your temper and mood swings. I want the old Saber back. I want the elf I fell in love with back in my life-"

"In other words…not me." Saber spoke quietly, but his body language was loud in his simmering anger. His horse stomped in agitation of their combined tempers.

"You've changed, Saber."

He turned slightly, relenting finally. "Yes… I have."

"And you don't seem very interesting in changing back either."

Saber didn't look at her now, confirming her suspicions. "Why should I? I feel stronger now. More powerful."

Her mouth gaped. "Powerful? By the Nine, Saber, you've killed not just one god but two. How in all of Nirn do you think you need to be more powerful?"

"I didn't say I _needed_ to be more powerful." He snapped angrily. "I said I _feel_ more powerful."

"Since when?"

"Since…" Saber trailed off.

"Since Nekros bit you beneath Kogoruhn. That's when it started." Eiryn finished for him. "You don't think I haven't noticed? You've become more and more like him each passing year. With losing your memory, you had only that …_bond_ or whatever you call it, to go by to help you survive, but its twisted you."

The Dunmer considered this, having nothing to refute her claim. "I understand now, what Nekros tried to do. The power he wanted for me." He finished with saddling his horse. "I'm not twisted…I simply come to understand what I am. What I'm capable of."

Eiryn blinked slowly, not believing what he was saying. "This isn't you. This was never you. Its…something else."

"Something powerful." He agreed, "Something _stronger_. In fact," He added with a cocky smirk, "I know I'm stronger than Nekros ever was."

"But you hated him."

"I hate him still." He nodded, "That doesn't lessen what I say is true."

"And what purpose is having all this power? How often have I heard you deny titles or even a want to rule?" But then, her words revealed his thoughts to her.

"Like you say," He told her, walking his horse out to the courtyard. "Things change."

Eiryn felt a tug of remorse, even a touch of foreboding to his words. Cold fear turned blood to ice. He didn't seem to even care what she had just told him, as if her news of a baby's arrival was trivial compared to this power he enjoyed. "I had hoped this child would change things."

He paused, turning slightly to look back at her. Remnants of regret shadowed his eyes. "If its mine."

The words hurt like acid, but wasn't this what she expected? For years now neither hoped to start a family. He couldn't father a child. This was something they both accepted from his years of taking a potion called Shadowbane. The potion provided resistances to all poisons, but rendered him sterile. Months had passed since his being lost. Of course he assumed her pregnancy was not his doing.

"The child is yours." She said simply.

To this he paused, chewing on a lower lip in thought. "I need…to think." He finally said. "We'll discuss this further when I return."

Eiryn remained in the courtyard to watch him go, remained still long after the gates shut behind him. Her heart mourned, unsure if this was due to fear of losing him, or already having lost him.

Saber felt her eyes upon him as the doors shut behind him. She gave him much to think upon. Her telling him about her pregnancy left him numb, but it was her understanding his thoughts on this newfound sense of power that disturbed him more. Eiryn was ever the observant one.

He didn't mount the horse, preferring to walk for now. He needed the exercise, to work off the myriad of emotion Eiryn provoked inside him. Amid the wreckage of his soul, he still loved her. Like the soft glow of embers of a dying fire, he sensed that in himself. Yes, he did love her. Eiryn was the only woman who understood him inside and out. She knew his moods. She knew his past. She knew just as much of his life as he did, and now it would seem she knew the darkness lurking deep inside him.

_What if she tells Martin…?_

The thought bubbled up, unbidden. At first he wanted to not care what the emperor thought. What did he care of a human's paltry opinion of him? And what would he think anyway? Saber struggled against rising jealousy once more.

Saber had saved the emperor's life more than once, and had given no cause for suspicion. Likely the man would dismiss accusations. For a ruler, Martin's naiveté left little doubt on his belief of goodness in those around him.

But still…

Treason cannot be taken lightly. Even if the heir to the throne thought nothing of it; the others might.

Dark thoughts shadowed him once more.

I would never hurt her. This thought felt like stone; unmoving. Regardless of her fear, Saber knew she was safe from harm. Even if the child wasn't his; he'd never consider hurting her. He dared to glance back at the temple behind him. Two guards atop the high wall were mere pinpricks from this distance.

Emotion aside, Saber realized Eiryn was not the type of woman to lie. If the child wasn't his, she would've told him as such regardless. If the child was Martin's, surely Eiryn would seek to tell the emperor this and therefore have an heir to all of Cyrodil.

But she hadn't.

_My child. _He allowed himself the luxury of imagining what a child of his might be like. They say a child of a mix race followed the mother's side. A picture of a green eyed daughter with her mother's humor caused him to smile. A son might take on her sense of right. This might not be so bad…

_My own heir_.

This thought left him giddy.

Somehow he also felt cheated. After all, the old Saber would bask in the warm glow of family. Eiryn's news would have the old Saber insist upon her safety, and a parting kiss upon leaving would carry him for days on a cloud.

Nearing the bottom of the hill, he mounted the Anvil White gelding. The beast sidled, eager to run before he managed to settle into the saddle. For now, he needed to focus on this task of finding Azura's Shrine.

He kicked the horse to a gallop.

Years had passed since Eldwin lived among the citizens of Skingrad. They knew him only as a boy, and even then, they assumed he perished in the fire with his family. With his ability to change his appearance, and donning the clothes of a noble, no one would guess who or what he was now. No one would recognize him for the years he aged. No more did the scrawny boy of Skingrad exist, fearful of beatings or what else his father would do. Instead, Eldwin grew to be what others feared in the shadow, and he excelled in his work as an assassin.

That was…before he changed. Even now he felt the power of rage, the strength of embracing all that dark and sinister flagging. This conscience grew like a cancer within him, nudging and prompting him on a path he never thought possible. Seeing Saber change into what he used to be, both disgusted and caused him to cringe. Seeing himself objectively allowed him to see what he might have had if he hadn't turned to the darkness….

The city, meanwhile, changed little his absence. Even the long red and black banners of the city bore the count's herald; a twin moon motif on divergent colors of red and black. Guards posted at various locations throughout the city also bore the insignia of the count.

The West Weald Inn provided the highest quality of room and board. Rooms varied in sizes, with a larger suite at the topmost floor. Eldwin preferred its location closer to the main gates, as well as the quality of service. The higher price tended to also keep the riff raff out.

"This is a bit much." Ferise murmured as they entered the inn. "Do you often pick the most expensive inn in cities when you travel?"

"Generally." He replied. "I'd rather not board with lice and filth."

"Ah, good point." She patted a sleeve, seeing puffs of dust rise up. "Two rooms, and I can pay for my own."

He assumed as much, knowing this woman would desire privacy and safety of her own space. Ferise's independence earned his admiration, however, he wouldn't expect her to pay near double the price. Nodding he took her paltry bag of coin, knowing he would slip it back into her things later.

Once settled with the rooms, Eldwin lingered only long enough to drop off his pack before setting out to make purchases. He didn't trust the Dunmer woman's judgment in proper attire, so he found a moderate gown for her to wear. Something expensive would likely be put aside in her judgment. He picked deep reds with green accents. Matching hair pins would add a bit of elegance to her.

Upon his return, he knocked gently on her door, hearing the gentle splash of water within. "Ferise?" He called, "I have some clothes for you."

Another splash soon followed her answer. "Enter."

Wrapped in a towel, hair still dripping, the woman used another cloth to dry the length of black hair. Unbound it nearly touched her waist. "Why did you buy me clothes?" She asked, ignoring his stare.

It had been a long time since he saw a half-naked woman, let alone one so obviously unknowing of her beauty. Dark skin the hue of a summer storm glistened with water. Toned muscle flowed like silk whenever she moved. The long hair, unbound and now tangled about her face made her appear almost a mirror image of Saber when he was younger. The resemblance made a rise of emotion caught in his throat, and it took effort to push aside such things.

His tastes generally were for those of the male persuasion, but so familiar to Saber's appearance, and her body athletic enough to catch his interest, he found himself forcing his mouth shut.

"We are pressed for time." The vampire told her, laying the gown on the bed.

Her brows pinched. "But its near sunset. Will the count see us so late?"

Eldwin caught himself once more staring too long at the curve of her lips, the line of her jaw. Shaking himself out of it, he smiled. "Oh I think so. Get dressed. I'll get cleaned up, and we'll head out."

It was true they didn't have much time, so he washed quickly, dressed meticulously, and met with Ferise in the common room downstairs.

The young adventure cleaned up nicely, wearing the gown that emphasized the curves otherwise hidden in armor and commoner's clothes. No longer was she a sword-wielding warrior. In her stead sat a woman of stature. The length of black hair pulled from her face with the hair pins, drew to a neat bun atop her head. Loose curls framed her face, drawing attention to the light curve of her cheek. The gown's collar swooped to provide just the barest hint to the swell of her breasts.

Brushing aside an errant lock of hair, she commented with a smile. "You look refreshed."

"Thank you." He gave a cordial bow. "And you look ravishing."

A light pink hue tinged the dusky cheeks but otherwise she appeared simply accepting his compliment. She let him take the lead as they headed out into the night.

Eldwin had taken a number of potions to renew his mana. Not that he would need to hide his nature to the count. He cast a sidelong glance at Ferise, wondering why he wanted her with him. After all, talking about vampire cures was likely something she knew little of or could help with.

So why is she with me?

Eldwin felt an odd twinge of something, yet had no word to describe it. He supposed he remembered a time he would suspect others of betrayal. As an assassin you saw the worst in people, and as a boy he learned early that even the ones you trusted the most could turn traitor at an instant's notice.

So why do I trust this woman?

Nekros would never have done so. Nekros would've left her body back in Cheydinhal, and never thought of her again.

_But I am not Nekros. _

This revelation struck him hard. This change in him, although at first unwanted, left him a better person. Stirrings of friendship with this Dunmer gave him his first pangs of regret. I find a cure; I'm likely to turn back onto Nekros.

Or die….

Yes, there was always that possibility.

In a sense, even if he were to survive the change, he would be human once more, to age and die.

The weight of sacrifice felt heavy on his mind. I give up everything…?

But this sense of right and wrong now provoked him to continue this quest. Saber adopted much of what Nekros was. I did that to him, Eldwin thought to himself. I cursed him. If I don't make things right, Saber will get worse. Everything I admired in him would be dead.

Eldwin considered the old Nekros, close to the heir to Cyrodil, choosing sides between Oblivion and that of Nirn…

I know which one Nekros would choose.

I have no choice but to change him back.

"Eldwin?" Ferise frowned when he stopped to look at the setting sun. "What's wrong?"

The vampire swallowed, wondering how many more sunsets he would see. "I never told you that I can't feel the sun, did I?"

Her frown deepened in concern. "You can't?"

Eldwin nodded. "The magic I use allows me to withstand the sunlight, but I haven't felt the warmth of the sun for nearly 100 years."

"Do you miss it?"

His first response was to say no, but standing with her on the gateway to the castle, her body so close to him, sharing a sunset, he knew that answer would be wrong. "Sometimes."

Her hand touched his arm, gripping firmly enough to give encouragement. "Well then let's get this quest underway, shall we? We find the cure; you'll feel the sun again."

The sunset paled in comparison to that touch on his arm. Nodding, they walked the rest of the way to the castle doors.

NOTE: This chapter took me forever to write. I'm not sure why other than a month's worth of severe depression (money troubles), and now I'm homeschooling. This takes a huge chunk out of my day now. But I did it, and feel I'm back on track. The feedback helps, as does the readers who add me to their favorite lists. This reminds me to write, pressures me to continue. Thanks for that.


	23. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Chapter 22

The statue of milk-white marble stood along one of the mountains in the north. Lord Azura, Daedric Prince, whose sphere was Dawn and Dusk, took the form of a woman holding a moon in one hand and a star in the others. Long hair tumbled past shoulders, the waves framing an elven face of contemplation. This statue was not unlike the ones Saber knew in Morrowind.

A wave of nostalgia touched him only for a moment. It seemed a lifetime ago when he found himself caught up in the thrall of Azura where she named him the Nerevarine, and set him on a path of destiny. He wondered how he would fare facing her now, carrying the shadowed remnants of Nekros nestled tightly in his soul.

Sunlight sparkled too brightly against the snow laden ground. Saber grimaced at the brilliance when he dismounted, hesitating long enough to appraise the shrine for trouble and found none. It was habit, he reasoned, but knew better. With the growing bond snuffing out his sense of balance came also a sense of paranoia.

"What is your business here, traveler?" A male Dunmer challenged him. The frayed robe of gray marked him as a priest; the sharp features of the nose and cheek also discerned him as one from Morrowind. His hair, shaved enough to leave only a strip of spiked black on his head hinted origins from one of the eastern tribes of Vvardenfell. The style was out of place here in Cyrodil.

Saber quickly considered the smaller elf, sizing up an opponent who appeared to have no weapon other than a simple dagger. Again, the paranoia seemed senseless. Nevertheless, the Incarnate kept his hand ready on the pommel of his sword. Dark Elves, however innocuous should never be underestimated. Experience taught him that.

"I wish to speak with Azura." His word had no impact on the mer before him, only the red eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"You will need to make an offering of glow dust, and perhaps she would speak with you." Clearly he felt Azura had better things to do.

Saber glanced at the shrine, then to the sun overhead. "At dawn or dusk then" He faced this time constraint before at the shrines of Azura, whereas doors refuse to open until the hour governed by the 'Queen of the Night Sky".

"You are familiar with her ways?" The priest didn't seem to believe that.

Holding back a knowing smirk, Saber simply nodded. He already had the glowdust, having been testing new alchemy with ingredients found along the way. Through the years, he found the skill helpful in preparing quick potions for health or other results that could help him in his quests. Some even provided poisons to be added to weapons, adding to their deadly potency.

He doubted being the Nerevarine, Azura's chosen champion, would carry influence his petitioning Azura. Her powers ebbed at dawn or dust, never before or after it would seem. He would have to wait like everyone else.

Settling down to wait for dusk, he began the daily chore of inspecting weapons. Daggers laid in a row would be sharpened, while arrows and the bow would simply need checking for any flaws. The pliable wood needed oiled, with the fletching examined for any wear. The Manos blade needed little in the way of care. A keen edge always remained sharp. The enchanted steel gleamed faintly a blue hue, promising soul trapping at a critical strike. Runes wove along the curved edge, wire wrapping made for a secure grip.

Saber smiled, remembering when he felt held the sword as a boy. Nekros sent him to Master Kendari's school to steal the weapon as a test of his sneaking skill. Never had he felt such balance. The weight felt more of an extension of his arm, the first swing felt like perfection. Any other sword was nothing more than a bludgeon compared to this.

The sword also represented a stage of life where he eventually earned his freedom-

"A fine sword, that." The Dunmer priest commented. He stood not far eying him with the same suspicious nature of his kinsmen.

Grunting in acknowledgement, Saber continued wiping the steel of any oil or imperfection. His temper whispered within, threatening to burst out at any imagined provocation. To this, the Incarnate muffled it quickly.

"We do not often get adventurers to our Shrine." The priest continued, taking tentative steps closer. "And none so well prepared as you."

Glancing at daggers, arrows, his bow, and the Manos blade, Saber realized the man's concern. To someone not knowing his mission may assume the weapons were a bit excessive. "These are dangerous times."

"They are at that. Oblivion gates open randomly…. We pray to Azura, but do not always get an answer." He eyed the statue, folding hands into sleeves. "I see you've traveled far, so will offer some words if you will have them."

Saber only nodded, willing to hear him out.

"Our Lord Azura does not always reply to petitioners, even the devout."

"And you worry that I might be displeased at that?"

The man forced a nervous smile. "It has happened before. People assume we can make Azura answer… but that is not so."

"And someone demanded you do something about that?"

The man nodded slowly.

"She will speak with me." Wasn't he chosen not long ago as her champion?

The Dark Elf frowned slightly, giving a polite bow before speaking. "You sound very sure of yourself."

Saber lifted his hand, showing the Moon and Star ring. "I _am_ very sure of myself."

The gaze focused, narrowed, subsequently widened in surprise. "The….Incarnate…? Here? But… forgive me, Lord Nerevar, but …I didn't recognize you-"

"You weren't supposed to."

"But,..how? Why?" Questions flowed from his lips too fast. "I thought you were in Akivar! But you are here now. We are saved!"

Surprised by a faith in a hero he never met, Saber frowned. "We're not saved yet."

"But you're here now." As if that was all they needed to end this crisis.

_Fool_…. Saber felt the stirring of irritation gather strength. "Much remains to be seen."

He turned his attention back to sharpening his sword in a silent demand for solitude. Fortunately, the priest was a sensitive enough elf to recognize a dismissal when he saw one.

"Of course… you have much to do. I will leave you to your duties."

The Incarnate didn't even look up, too lost in the weight of said 'duties'. His attention diverted only long enough to look up at the unmoving face of Azura. _When do I get my life back? Will I ever?_

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Even knowing Eldwin's vampirism, left Ferise couldn't help but stare at the Count of Skingrad. Yellowed eyes and prominent fangs openly illustrated his undead state. How in the Name of the Nine did a vampire remain undetected in such a position of power? He was practically flaunting his condition, and yet his servants didn't care or concern themselves with this fact. Needing to dampen her revulsion based on instinct, Ferise remained silent and unmoved, forcing herself to look elsewhere before Hassildor noticed her rude stare.

Eldwin gave a slight bow out of respect, and from everything Ferise knew of the vampire she traveled with; he didn't care for titles. Whatever reason to showing respect would be explained later, she was sure of it.

The count, once an Imperial, motioned for them to take a seat near a table to the far end of the spacious room. "Your illusion is quite impressive." He told Eldwin, "But unnecessary here."

If he meant for Eldwin to dispel his appearance, the request or demand was ignored. Ferise was glad of that. Even the illusion of being human provided her a sense of not being alone and vulnerable.

"Do you know why I have come?" Eldwin's formality dissipated in an unfaltering tone of demand.

The count drew himself straight at the challenge, eyes narrowing. "Very little misses my attention, but bear in mind whom sired the one that sired you. Do you understand?"

"I understand there is more at stake here than showing respect to kin or clan." Elwin countered easily. "My question, I believe, was simple."

Count Hassildor gave a light snort. "Vicente sent me word you arrived to Skingrad. Word came to me that you seek a cure." He shrugged. "This is fortunate, for I also seek a cure."

"You seek a cure?" This surprised both of them.

The noble vampire paused before responding, as if reconsidered his trust. In an instant the moment passed, however, and he spoke clearly. "It is my wife, you see. Rona…" Speaking her name altered his tone as if those two syllables drew life back into him. "You see, we were both changed into vampire together. I embraced the changes, but she did not. She hated what she become, and refused to feed to keep herself healthy. She eventually slipped into a coma from which she has not awoken. I wish her peace."

He shook off his melancholy. "I would ask that you take up this search on my behalf. If you are successful I will reward you in whatever small way I can. Will you aid me?"

"I was told you knew of a cure." Eldwin told him.

"I know where to start looking." Hassildor confirmed. "Will you aid me?"

"Where do I start?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Martin rubbed eyes grown weary from hours of reading. Having lost track of time, he realized the hour grew late and everyone but a handful of guards meandered in the Great Hall. He closed the Xarxes, feeling the ever-present sense of revulsion of just touching the book. The leather binding, he suspected, was not hide but human skin. The dark splotches marring the glyph inset into the cover was likely dried blood, but even knowing this, Martin knew the Darkness permeated the pages, rising up like a vile fume every time he read it.

Simply reading the book proved a challenge between his will and the promise of power. If not for his own past in the Daedric arts, the priest knew he may have fallen to the evil lure of the book. The world depended on his being able to resist temptation and to find the answers, and thankfully the recent deciphering of scrawled writing rewarded him with some hope. And finally the hours of reading paid off. The last items needed for the ritual were made obvious to him. Now he needed to find someone to retrieve them.

No easy task, but then, nothing of this had been easy. The priest-turned-king sighed, sitting back in his chair. _My friends do all the real work_, he thought to himself. Despite hours of study, he felt incredibly useless to this cause. Never did he feel more inadequate of a choice to be a leader. This had been a long journey from the simple life of a priest.

The hour grew late, leaving candles flickering feeble light in the main hall of the temple. Even the roaring fire of the hearth left only coals. The dawn would come too soon, and with it came the myriad of responsibilities now left on his shoulders. Just the thought of this left him burdened.

"Sire?" Jauffre startled him as the ever diligent Blademaster stood guard. His loyalty, although appreciated, still unnerved the priest turned king. Martin wasn't accustomed to having eyes watch him at every hour.

The Blademaster still wore armor, as if his life consisted of nothing but his duty.

"What is it, Jauffre?" Martin found the annoyance tinged the edge of his tone, and hoped Jauffre didn't notice.

"I've received reports of trouble down in Bruma." The man said, "An Oblivion gate, sire, opened outside the city gates not long ago."

_Oh no…_

NOTE: Again, my apologies for the infrequent updates. Now that school is done for the year, I should have more time to dedicate to writing for fun. I'm also aware that in the game, Hassildor admits to having been a vampire for only 50 years, but I felt the story made more sense to have him much older, and having sired Nekros. I will update soon.


	24. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

The remnants of what was once a creature known as a Will-O-Wisp sparkled in Saber's opened palm, emitting its own light against the dawn. The creature he killed only days before appeared only as a wisp of light, until bursting a spray of magic that sucked out intelligence and the will to fight. Being immune to all normal weapons, Saber cleaved through the cloud of smoke with the Manos Blade, trapping its soul while finding a pile of the dust when the light faded.

The Nerevarine paused before sprinkling the offering of glowdust on the marble altar. Uncertainty nagged at him. What if Azura wouldn't speak to him? What if the glowdust wasn't enough? According to the Dunmer priest, the Daedric Lord remained silent regardless of offerings from other more devout followers. What if Azura refused him because of his black heart?

Tilting his palm, he let the luminous dust pour to the marble stone. It glittered brightly, dissipating into an eerie cloud of golden sparks. He wasn't sure the meaning until an odd familiar tingling began to spread inside him.

"Nerevar…." The voice sounded like a thousand voices in one, echoing and yet whispering inside him, all around him. The tone vibrating down to his bones, shaking him to his core. There was no hiding now

"Azura." He whispered, closing his eyes. Part of him cringed, hoping to bury that part of himself that poisoned him. Now, more than ever, Nekros' blood sullied him, and where once he felt empowered, now he felt only shame.

"You have traveled a long way, Nerevar." The voice vibrated to his soul. "You wear the Moon-and-Star, yet I feel darkness in your soul."

"I seek a Daedric artifact…" He didn't know what else to say. Did he dare try to explain his condition? Did he want forgiveness? Did he dare ask for some level of redemption? What frightened him more was the sense that he didn't want either.

"To save the world?" Azura's tone implied derision.

Only now Saber considered the Daedric lord might well understand how far deep the darkness ran in his soul. He hardened his resolve, focusing on his need rather than his worries. "To close the Oblivon gates."

"Ah, yes. Any Daedric artifact will accomplish this. Why come to me?"

Damn, she was making this more difficult than need be. "If you refuse, I will go to another."

Silence answered him, and he waited before moving to leave.

"You will do something for me." Azura's voice demanded, leaving him no doubt she expected him to do this. "Many years ago, five followers slew the vampire Dratik and its kin, but all were infected by the foul creature."

Saber nearly stopped breathing at her words, feeling there was no mere coincidence she sent him on this quest to kill vampires.

"Knowing their Fate, they sealed themselves up in the vampire's lair. Their suffering weighs heavily on me." She continued, "You will go to Gutted Mine. The door will open to you. Bring the peace of death to my followers, and you shall earn my gratitude."

The Nerevarine paused, wondering if her gratitude meant the artifact, or simply allowing him to live. Instead of replying, he nodded, feeling her presence fade with the dawn. Slaughtering vampires didn't seem such a tough quest. In fact, he considered to himself, it might prove challenging.

"Is this it? This is where this witch, Melisande lives?" Ferise couldn't help to hide her surprise. They stood to the edge of a wooden bridge leading to a thatched cottage along the Reed River. The house appeared as many single room buildings scattered across the hillsides of the Nibanay Basin. The low thatched roof covered a simple stone structure with shuttered windows and brick chimney. A garden abundant with fruit and vegetables grew along side the one edge of the property, with a sturdy but basic fence to keep deer and minotaurs from grazing.

"What were you expecting?" Eldwin asked her, nudging his horse to cross the narrow bridge.

Ferise shrugged. "I'm not sure. I suppose something bigger. If she's a witch of any power, wouldn't she have some sort of material gain?"

"Depends on what you feel is to be gained." Eldwin commented, "Riches come in many forms. For some they find privacy their greatest treasure."

She gave a sniff of disdain, "Only someone who has riches would say that."

Eldwin eyed the landscape for possible trouble, finding nothing amiss, "You're from a well off family, aren't you?"

"My family has been members of House Indoril for several generations, and yes we have a rather large estate. However, since the Battle of Red Mountain, the other houses have systematically tried to disassemble our House." She shrugged, "And I've been on the road a long time. Just because I was raised on silk and silver spoons doesn't mean I don't understand what starvation and hardship is."

The vampire paused in his observations to look at her directly, taking note of her words. "So you understand both sides of the fence, then? Poverty or riches. What one considers material gain depends greatly on what one understands as important. Some Dark Elves would argue that honor comes before gold."

She understood that sentiment. Her own parents placed honor above everything else, including their daughter. Her head tilted at his comment. "Is that how you would describe Saber?" She assumed he knew of only one Dunmer. "Does he uphold honor above riches?"

To this Eldwin had to laugh. "My dear, after the Battle of Red Mountain, the Houses offered the Nerevarine titles and riches. He had no use for either. In fact, the estate he owns in the north territory he earned through a particularly difficult quest, and manages that estate quite well, I hear. And you forget; his history includes thievery and his own share of hardship. He knows both sides of the fence as well."

"A mer of many parts." Ferise commented softly, considering his words.  
Giving a grunt, Eldwin motioned for them to tie their horses near the gate. "Some might say complicated is a better word."

He rapped knuckles against the door, brushing off the dust from clothes to be presentable. When the portal opened, an elderly woman peered back at them, eyeing them both with surprise and suspicion. She appeared nearing the age of an elder, yet the eyes were bright and intelligent. The deep blue watched both of them with keen interest. Thin lips pursed into a curious frown.

"What brings you to this neck of the woods?"

Eldwin gave a polite bow. "A cure for vampirism." He stated simply.

She immediately stiffened. "What makes you think I know about such a thing?"

"You are a witch, aren't you?" Ferise asked, almost regretting her question as soon as she spoke. If the woman took offense, they might not get far with her.

The woman gave a chuckle. "Ah my dear, I gave up witchcraft a long, long time ago." Her eyes shifted back to the gentleman, considering him for truth or lie. "But a cure for vampirism… That's something I haven't thought about in quite some time. Very challenging, and potentially dangerous."

"I will pay-" Eldwin offered, but found himself silenced by an impatient wave of the woman's hand.

She nibbled a fingertip in thought, moving inside her small house to pace slowly in thought. The woman waved them in without looking as she considered possible methods. "I do believe I can create a potion that will do the trick. It will require a few…things."

Ferise and Elwin exchanged knowing glances, understanding how such things worked. The list began with garlic, and an herb called Nightshade. Bloodgrass added more challenge to their list, being a strange, otherworldly plant from the realm of Oblivion.

Melisande stopped her pacing. "This next item may prove…difficult. It may be quite the trial for you. But if you are successful, it will make the cure more worth it."

"And that is?" Eldwin already knew places that sold garlic and Nightshade, perhaps even Bloodgrass.

"You have come across a vampire or two in your travels, perhaps? I assure you they are nothing like what you must face."

Ferise coughed to hide the sudden laugh threatened to burst from her. The witch didn't recognize she spoke to a vampire! Eldwin dipped his chin to hide his own smirk, focusing instead with jotting down on parchment the list of items she needed.

The witch continued. "The vampire you seek is powerful, so powerful that those who sought to destroy him were unsuccessful, no matter what they tried. The best they could do is imprisoned him, where he survives to this day…"

"And he is trapped where?"

"Search near the North Panther River for Hindaril. If you can vanquish him, his ashes will be more than adequate for my needs."

Ferise pulled out her weathered map, tracing a finger along the mentioned river. "Its not far."

"Please be careful." Melisande told them, unable to hide a level of guilt for sending them to what may possibly be their doom.

Eldwin gave a polite bow, "We will return soon."

As soon as the door shut behind them, Ferise released the snigger she'd been holding in. "I can't believe she didn't notice!"

The vampire pulled the hood over his head to shield from the late day sun. "That is the general idea, my dear."

Eiryn hurried to the main hall, finding the emperor encircled by all the Blades within the temple ready to take arms against the new threat. The alarm sounded when a guardsman from Bruma arrived by horse, racing full tilt with the announcement of the Oblivion gate outside the city. Voices sounded panicked and desperate.

"A gate? Here? So close?"

"We should retreat further into the mountains-"

"Where's the Nerevarine? He knew how to shut these gates!"

"He's not here. I sent him on a mission." Martin said in a voice steadily calm and assured. "We'll face this threat without him."

Merthisan kept a hand to the sword at his hip. The face remained taut with concern. "I will go." He volunteered. "A single man won't attract the attention of a group of men."

Others protested a stronger attack, arguing they needed to join together to fend off this new threat.

Eiryn tugged on Martins' sleeve to get his attention amid the arguments that ensued. "Merth is right. A smaller group won't attract attention. We can post men outside the gate to kill anything that comes out while we figure out a way to close the gate."

The roar of the arguments suddenly hushed, listening to her plan.

Now with their full attention, she explained simply. "Saber told me that the is controlled by a sigil stone. Find the stone, and you close the gate."

A younger Blade scowled. "And you know how to do that?"

The young scout knew her volunteering added unwanted danger to more than just herself. No amount of hiding in the temple would save her unborn child if the Daedra broke through. They also couldn't wait for the Nerevarine to return to save the day. She must face her own fears and this danger today. There might not be a tomorrow.

"Merthisan and I will go." She waved the older fighter to silence to let her finish before she lost her nerve. "We will shut the gate. We can sneak our way in. I have no intention of being a hero, but we need that gate shut."

"Eiryn, I don't think that is a good idea." Merthisan remained hesitant. "Caius and I-"

"I am a crackshot with a bow." Her tone sharpened, anger sparking now. Couldn't he see her fear and how difficult this was for her? "You get turned around in Oblivion or unable to find the sigil stone, then we lose." She stared at him until the truth of her words finally struck home.

"We should go now then."

"I'll get my things."

Note from author: Sorry for not updating regularly. I'm in the depths of a novel that I hope to publish this year. I promise to not forget this fanfic though. ;-)


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 24

"What do you mean 'stay out here'?" Ferise found her tone rising at Eldwin's suggestion she stay outside to guard the cave's entrance. "You can't go in there alone."

He didn't look up as he sorted through a number of vials he carried with him, gauging which potion he might need. "I have certain advantage you do not. I also have skills in stealth and subterfuge. I'm afraid in this task, you're more of a hindrance than a help."

The Dunmer opened her mouth to protest, and then shut it when she couldn't think of a retort. He was right. She was mortal. He wasn't. She couldn't help but rankle at his smug attitude though.

"And how long do I wait before I go in to find you?" She asked irritably.

Ever so calm, the vampire turned to look at her. "You don't. If I'm not back by dusk, you'll know I'm dead." Turning back to his task, he continued to gather only what he need to carry.

"That's it?" Ferise knelt beside him, tugging his arm until he looked at her. "You go in, die, and that's it?"

His lips tensed in a smile. "I don't intend on dying. Don't be so dramatic."

She didn't know why his attitude bothered her. Somehow she suspected the worry for him nagged her senses. _Why should I care?_ _He's a vampire. He'd just as soon kill me if it suited him. _

Unable to voice this, however, she opted to make a simple camp near a boulder outside the cave's entrance.

"Don't linger past dusk." Eldwin told her pointedly. He tucked some knives in sleeves and boots. "If I'm dead, this vampire will hunt at nightfall."

Ferise nodded, mimicking his own manner of not looking at him as she started a fire. Striking flint, she felt a hand her shoulder. Eldwin knelt, staring intently with an odd expression on his face.

"Did you hear me?"

"Yes," She told him. "I heard you. Get out of the area before dusk. I got that."

"Good." He paused, before moving towards the cave. "Oh…and Ferise?"

"What?" She found him again with the odd expression which slowly transformed to a smile.

"I'm glad you're here." Without waiting for a response, he disappeared into the darkness. Ferise found whatever annoyance she felt dissipated like a morning fog.

Hunger…desire…..a need…a craving for blood abated only during the void of a vampire's dreamless sleep…

Ghola woke from the emptiness, feeling the cramped quarters of the coffin surround him from all sides like a blanket. He emerged from the dirt laden casket knowing the lid wasn't sealed. The knowledge that he shared the same fate of vampirism with his fellow brethren also lingered in his thoughts. He'd slept in the same coffin for hundreds of years, sealed in the Gutted Mine with his brethren; followers of Azura.

He expected to find their familiar faces waiting for him, as he had so many times before. What he didn't expect was the thick scent of blood in the air. Not spilled blood, but blood pumping through a living heart, with the promise of a feeding if they faltered.

Death also lingered like a heavy perfume, and immediately he knew this was not mortal death.

Not mortal…. The death of a vampire. One of his kindred passed into ashes.

Ghola paused for a moment, looking to the cavern walls with suspicion. No mere adventurer could kill his clan member. Someone of skill lurked amid these shadows.

Hope flared with a mixture of anger. Having grown weary of eternity, the orc would nonetheless, avenge the death of any one of his brethren.

How long since he warmed his face in the sun, or felt the fresh breeze of the dawn upon him? So adoring of the dawn, he followed his fate through the worship of the Daedric Lord Azura, Lady of the Dawn and Dusk, only to this end as some bloodthirsty monster. As an Orc, he couldn't appreciate the irony in that.

Dratik, a vampire lord, died by his hand, whereby cursing Ghola and the others to the same fate. Fearing the death they'd bring to loved ones, they agreed to seal themselves to their doom in this mine, hoping Fate would eventually provide them the reward of death to their existence.

Blood…

Ghola drew in a deep breath. Nostrils twitched and his mouth worked at the thought of feeding. The tusks of his Orsimer lineage were not as sharp as they fangs now thirsting for blood. Once an impressive Orc with a large frame, low brow, and heavy jaw, he knew his appearance shared the faded green skin and weathered look of the dead. Unable to see his own reflection, he knew the hollowed cheeks and emaciated body left him half the Orc he once was.

Vision adjusted to the gloom of the cave, finding a body lying to the far end of the room. Here was no stranger. He recognized the Nordic chainmail. The weapon of Nille Elf-Daughter still clutched in the remains of ash and bone. Her once golden length of hair now appeared as a shroud of ashen gray-white.

Sorrow transformed to relief when the Orc realized her pain ended. Although he grieved her death, he knew their day would come. How many times had he prayed a noble end to their torment?

He found the others, all bones and ashes. Donning their armor and weapons by their side showed their killer be no mere thief. The scent of life resonated close by, closer than before.

"I know you're here." Ghola spoke in a voice too long unused. The growl sounded more threatening than intended. He doubted it mattered much to whoever entered this mine. Their intention was clear. His day had come. "Show yourself."

A shape took form far enough from his battle hammer, but close enough so Ghola saw his would-be executioner. A Dark Elf? Ghola couldn't remember the last time he saw a Dunmer, having spent centuries with only one other elf and that one was Altmer.

Black hair, cropped short spiked slightly. Skin, dark as ebony, almost concealed him in the shadow save for the ember red gaze. This was the stare of someone focused on one thing and one thing only. His light armor glowed faintly of magic. A single fighter entering a cave filled with vampires showed him as either foolhardy or very good with the weapons.

A sword remained sheathed on a shoulder harness. A bow rested in his left hand. The other hand kept an arrow knocked, pulled slightly and at the ready.

In the moments of assessing his foe, looking for weaknesses and strengths, Ghola recognized the elf released the spell when he didn't have to. He just as easily remained under the Chameleon spell and killed from behind. Furthermore, only now the Orc realized who broke the seal of the mine.

Azura…

Ghola straightened, seeing the one sent to end his curse. For his brethren, their curse already lifted with their deaths. "I know why you've come, elf."

The elf nodded once, drawing his bow.

Ghola smiled. "And I promise you, I won't go easily."

To this the Dunmer matched the smile. "I would expect nothing less."

The arrow flew with an audible twang, hitting the stone wall behind him when Ghola sidestepped the bolt. Having the powers of the undead had its benefits. He drew his hammer, feeling the surge of power and anticipation when the elf drew his own blade from its sheath.

With a resounding song of steel, the blade twirled in a dizzying pattern, blocking the first blow of his mighty hammer. Ghola let the weight of the weapon carry his weight to dodge the thrust of the sword, admiring his opponent's skill. He retaliated not with the hammer, but with a fist to strike at the face.

The elf braced the impact, falling backward and then fell low to duck from a swing of the heavy mallet.

"I am Ghola gro-Muzgol!" The Orc snarled, ignoring a nick the curved sword left on his forearm. He blocked another pass before continuing. " You will remember my name!"

The elf offered no reply, dancing away only to move to the side with incredible speed. He slashed again, leaving a gash to the vampire's side.

"Nille Elf-Daughter!" Ghola snarled, ignoring the pain as another blow hit him from the front as this stranger seemed to move at dizzying speeds. "A Nordic Bard from Atmora. You will remember her name as well!"

The battle hammer swung, missing his foe. This move met another slash to the back of his leg. Frustration turned his hope for a death with honor to one of anger. "And Aranalda, the archer!" He changed tactics to throw a fist and caught the elf to the face. It only stunned him momentarily, but Ghola felt the satisfaction of seeing blood now. Bloodlust began to churn his fury.

"Avita Cassiana!" Ghola roared, wanting badly to kill this elf and feed. Even if this meant another hundred years of solitude in this dark cave, now with no one to speak to, and time without end in this undead state. He still wanted to sink his teeth and drink deeply. "Yes! You will remember that name!"

Still, the Dunmer spoke no words as he moved easily out of the heavy swings of the hammer. The vampire snarled this time, throwing the hammer as he lost control. When the Dunmer evaded the weapon, Ghola roared in anger. Lunging himself he simply grabbed the elf in the hopes of crushing him with his bare hands. He barely felt the sword cutting through him.

His first sense was surprise; surprise such a small blade cut through his armor made of Orcish design, imbued with magic. The next sense was relief, as the cold numbing bite of true death wrapped around him.

"Umar…." Ghola gasped, slipping to his knees. He gaped at the sword in his chest, looked up at his killer who remain unmoved as stone. "Umar gra-Khar….you will…remember her as well?"

Death for a vampire felt like sand drifting on a beach, the body disintegrated piece by piece, as the undead soul relieved its burden of eternal life. Ghola watched the dark elf give a single defined nod.

"They will be remembered." The words sounded so far away now. Ghola smiled, dropping forward to turn to dust.


End file.
